Reflections in a Shallow Pool
by soulful-sin
Summary: TimmyxTrixie. Trixie's thinking about her life and a certain pink hatted boy...
1. Things Better Left Said

Author's Note- I really should be shot for doing a Timmy/Trixie. But that's where this story headed and you know what? I'm not terribly unhappy about that.

Disclaimer: Although I'm ascribing to an idea perpetuated by Butch Hartman and, until Channel Chasers, quite possibly the future for our intrepid heroes, I do not own it any of the characters herein. They are owned by their respective companies and I own nothing, aside from the story of this one-shot.

Reflections in a Shallow Pool

She was born with a silver spoon in her mouth and, in many people's opinions, a pedigree in bitchiness. She was the elite, better than everyone, and she let them know it. No one outshone her, she was Trixie Tang.

Chewing on an expensive, imported pencil, Trixie gazed about her luxurious room, newly redecorated thanks to that bucktoothed pink wearing loser. To think, she'd recently lost her mind enough to permit him to be her boyfriend. What folly.

Still, she had to admit he had a certain charm about him. Perhaps it was his daring, wearing pink and yet not adhering to the idea that he was completely straight. (She had no doubt he was, he nearly fell over every time he saw her). Or perhaps it was just how pathetic he was, always dashing after her with another crackpot way to win her heart. Of all her potential suitors, Timmy had to be the most dedicated.

Yes, Timmy- she knew his name. No matter how many times she called him 'Tommy', she really did know who he was. He was Timmy Turner, someone who she wouldn't pass up if it weren't for the fact he wasn't rich like her.

Money accounted for a lot in her world. As a matter of fact, those born in poverty were immediately stricken from family records, never to be spoken of again and the bane of their existence. Sometimes, if she just twisted her mind around it, she could vaguely remember an uncle Jack falling on hard times and buying a trailer _to live in_. Honestly, that was sadder than Timmy.

Speaking of sad, if she looked up the word, she knew she'd find Tootie. God, what a lovesick loser. The girl would do anything, anything at all, to get Timmy to notice her. She didn't blame Timmy for shunning her, she did the same. After all, who the hell wanted to hear a bratty, poor child whine and moan about someone who couldn't care less if they lived or died?

The only good thing about her was her sister Vicky, a girl she greatly admired. Such terror she invoked, and surely this came with the ability to manipulate men. Although she hadn't heard of anything recently as far as romantic entanglements, she was sure Vicky was on top of everything there.

All girls she knew like that were always entwining boys on their fingers. What good were boys if you couldn't play with their minds, make them think they were the boss? Whenever one looked at her with pining eyes, she could always act a little slutty and make their jaws drop. Then, just when they thought they were going to get ahead, she lost interest. She wasn't a slut- just a tease.

Her parents disdained teenage pregnancies. Therefore, her mother, castigated from her family, lent her one bit of advice before she vanished for parts unknown (middle class): "if you've got it, flaunt it. But just make sure you don't go too far with it. Don't fall for the hero."

Now, she wasn't entirely certain who the hero was in this tale, but she was no Cinderella. She wasn't going to wait for someone to deliver her from her world into their world, nor was she going to allow them to. She had one interest and one only- herself. Everyone else could go rot in hell.

But that returned her thoughts to Timmy. He had to be the most selfless admirer she'd ever met, literally risking rejection from every angle just to be with her. If she weren't afraid of (a), losing her status, (b), losing her family, and (c), losing her heart, she'd go with him in a second.

It wasn't that he had a way with words. Words had a way with him, darting away just when he was about to utter them.

Nor was he poetic or romantic. He was a boy; therefore, he possessed neither of these qualities. He'd never written her a ballad of epic proportions, one worthy of praise, nor had he laid out a picnic for two in the schoolyard.

And he wore pink! Pink, for a boy, that was truly heinous. If she didn't know better, she'd say his friends were far more than friends. But she did know better, and just ignored them.

For instance, she happened to know A.J. harbored a crush on her. It was harmless infatuation and he'd never acted upon it. He wasn't a slave to love, like Timmy was (something she found cute).

A.J. was just there- too smart to be noticed even if he _was _rich. If he lost a few I.Q. points and Timmy left the picture, she might give him a second look. And he should be honored that the great Trixie Tang did so, because knowing a loser's name was a huge accomplishment.

Of course she knew more than Timmy's name. She knew where he lived, even his phone number. Naturally, she'd never called him, but she'd thought about it. Fantasized about what she'd say, how she'd say it, and what his reaction would be. But no, too risky.

In fact, if she were pressured to admit it, she knew about as much about Timmy as Tootie, only she didn't stalk him to get it. She hired private investigators, skeptical that this much information was needed about a ten-year-old boy, but bribed with a hundred dollars above their fee to keep mum. Her knowledge of him spanned a novel, including the mystery of the goldfish.

No one seemed to know why he kept goldfish, nor why he was accompanied by pink and green objects. She didn't ascribe to the theory they were fairies, there was no such thing. No deity deigned when people would be happy, it was up to them to forge their own destiny. No amount of wishing would change that.

Still, this was another thing she liked about him, the air of mystery. Boys who were too plain were boring, but he had just enough to keep him intriguing. Why his parents just didn't buy him braces, what was up with the pink, and the weird accomplishes- her investigator couldn't tell her all that. It wouldn't do to ask the parents of her obsession questions about him.

She wasn't really allowed to obsess over him. Her obsession wasn't blatant, either, not raging like Tootie's. Instead, it was quiet, the occasional sneak of a glance when she thought he was looking, a flirtacious smile, the cursory touch of her hand on his. Such actions gave her a thrill she could not explain, but it had to be similar to the one Tootie experienced when she shouted Timmy's name.

Seriously, though, who did that? You couldn't tell boys you liked them at that age unless you were certain they liked you first. Tootie just wasn't cute enough to pull that off. Therefore, she terrified Timmy.

At an early age, she'd learned exclusion- how to do it, who to hurt, and who it affects. She'd been assigned a bodyguard who taught her the basics, even providing her with a helpful chart. Until she was fit for society, these lessons were drilled in her head.

Next to her left hand was her princess pink telephone. Her hand wavered indecisively towards it, had done so since she realized she had a thing for him. Usually, when she got the urge to call him, she called Veronica and regained her sanity. But Veronica was out of town for a week, leaving her to her own devices.

If she called him, was there a possibility his parents would answer? Did they let him talk to girls? She really knew nothing about the home situation, just everything about his personality, likes and dislikes, and a few more personal details.

To her back, the TV blared, running Kissy Kissy Goo Goo. It was summer, and she was cool, just not happy. _But, _a voice whispered in her head, _you know how to fix that._

The hand gripping her pencil, scratching out a personal reject to one of her suitors, grew sweaty. She reached for a tissue, imported from France, when her eyes fell upon a letter written in Timmy's scrawling handwriting. This was the seventh in two days, he was getting desperate.

Would it be so horrible if she called him and asked him out? Sure, it went against everything she was taught and she risked her popularity, bought for her, just to do it, but was happiness worth it? Did Timmy have the power to make her happy?

Delicately slipping a perfectly manicured fingernail inside the envelope, she pulled out the letter. It was written, naturally, on pink paper, but, instead of making her snicker, it made her smile. Everything he did was just so cute.

Dear Trixie (it read):

I know you've heard this a thousand times and you think I'm a loser, but if you just give me a chance, I know you'll like me. I mean, a guy with a psychotic fan can't make proposals to you every day.

Trixie laughed. The letter continued in pretty much the same vain for five paragraphs, begging her to think about it in the very least. The signature caught her eye, though.

P.S. Before you file this in the rejection folder, at least make sure you handwrite my reply. I want to see your beautiful handwriting before my heart breaks.

Before she knew it, her hand was on the telephone, dialing a number she knew well but had never dared to complete. She was so nervous, she nearly dropped the pencil and the receiver.

"Hello?" Timmy asked and she breathed a sigh of relief. At least she didn't have to deal with his parents.

"Hi," Trixie said softly. " I have an opening in my schedule this afternoon, so I was wondering if you wanted to do something."

"Are you asking me out on a date?!" He yelped in pleasure and she could just see him dancing around the room, hooting.

Grinning widely, she replied, "It depends. Are you going to stand around and act like an ape or are you going to give me an answer?"

"Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!" He yelled, so loudly she had to hold the receiver at arm's length. Wow, what a pair of lungs.

"I'll be there at three." _Because I already know where you live._

Listening to him cry gleefully raised her spirits more than she thought possible. Maybe things weren't so bad, maybe her parents would understand. Besides, what did she care? She'd fallen for the hero.


	2. Bad Tidings

Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews, everyone! And, uh, I didn't intend for this to be a series, but, now that it is, it's not _that_ bad, is it? (ducks rotten fruit) Or maybe it is.

This chapter is tied in with the sixth chapter of Once Upon a Fractured Fairy Tale. Although it is not necessary to read both in order to understand the situation, reading both will provide you a fuller understanding since you see both sides of the story. (Also, I'm not too proud of this, but this particular version includes a great deal of Tootie bashing).

Disclaimer: Even for the short duration in which the characters are referred/appear, I do not own them. This should be apparent by now.

Chapter Two: Bad Tidings

It was nearly two thirty, but that was all right. A girl like her could always be fashionably late. Besides, this was important business to take care of.

Four houses down from her new boyfriend's house was a little brat with pigtails and glasses. Trixie wrinkled her nose in distaste- the girl always made her want to retch, so hyper around Timmy and so dejected otherwise. She was totally bipolar.

Naturally, she knew the girl to be home. After all, did Tootie go anywhere? No. Did she socialize? No. Was she a complete and utter loser? Yes.

To the best of her knowledge, Vicky was off babysitting Chester, which she neither cared about nor thought it concerned her. It was just a random tidbit to know, a reason Tootie might venture out of her house just to have her heart broken. This ought to be fun.

Breezing out of her limo (the driver, after being paid off, had said nothing about the dump of a neighborhood they lived in or where he was dropping her off), Trixie Tang paused briefly, fixing her eyeliner, before ringing the doorbell. Unlike her so called "competition", she liked to look her best before she shattered people's dreams. It simply wouldn't do to look barbaric, uncivilized. (With that thought, she quickly made a mental note to take Timmy shopping for a better wardrobe).

From the corner of her eye, she spotted Tootie upstairs, eyeing her warily and idly playing with dolls. Dolls, how archaic. Honestly, who played with dolls when you could just buy the people and force them to act them out? Not that she did that either…anymore.

Splashing on the fakest smile she could muster (her jaw hurt doing it, from now on, her smiles were reserved for Timmy), she waved at her. The petite girl's eyes narrowed and she made no attempt to move from the room. Instead, she placed her doll (a replica of Timmy, how pathetic) to the side and shut the curtains. Hmph, well two could play at that game.

"Oh, Tootie?" Trixie called saccharinely, shuddering. Sugar, spice and everything nice were not employed in her creation. More like money, wealth, and power.

The shadow behind the curtain ignored her. Apparently, she had to offer a more valuable phrase than her pathetic name. All right, well, she was asking for it. No one had a right to ignore Trixie Tang when she was on her catbird seat.

"This is about Timmy, you know, your beloved." Biting back derisive laughter, she awaited her reaction. Oh, this ought to be promising. After all, she might be able to ignore her, but not Timmy. Timmy was her world, and she'd just stolen him out from under her.

Filing her nails, Trixie crossed the lawn and stood right beneath her window. There was a shuffling and Tootie undid the curtains, her eyes wide as she clutched them to her. Perfect- just like her.

"What about Timmy?" Tootie asked, guarded. Aw, wasn't that cute? She actually cared.

"I just wanted to let you know, the instant I place this button on his shirt, you can give up." _Now where did I put the darn thing? Ah, wait, there it is. I won't show it to her right away, best to let her keep guessing._

_ I know she won't give up, but she'll recede into the sidelines, like she should. She isn't an important person, she never was. If she were, more people would know her last name and she wouldn't be such a nobody, a secondary character._

Tenderly, she fingered the plastic on the front. It still had his imprint on it; she could almost feel his chest behind it. She was sure he'd wear it proudly, as well he should…just not around her father.

She wasn't sure how her father would react to the news, probably be angry at her for keeping it from him in the first place. Then, there was the social disgrace to think about, how she'd chosen an ugly, bucktoothed loser for a boyfriend, and how he was practically poverty-stricken- middle class was, for them, the bottom of the barrel, beyond thought. She had a possibility of losing her standing if she went for this…but was Timmy worth it? Yes, he was worth everything.

"What button would that be?" Tootie replied, gritting her teeth.

_Stupid, aren't you? Heh, all the better. You weren't worthy of Timmy, anyway. Now you won't have the burden of trying to prove your stupidity to him._

_Timmy has enough stupidity to deal with, I'll be like a breath of fresh air to him. A bit in his ear, a bit on his face, and a bit in his mouth._

"The one that claims him as my property," She snapped back, growing impatient. How could she not know of the pin? It was legendary; there were even girls who wanted it. Then again, they just wanted attention, which they weren't going to get.

"He's not a trademark or a piece of merchandise. You can't own him," Tootie said obstinately.

"Says who, little girl?" Trixie sneered, folding her arms across her chest and holding the pin in front of her. "_I _can and will own him. Just because _you _don't have the beauty and brains to even try doesn't mean it's not hopeless for the girl of his dreams."

_ I am, after all, the girl of his dreams. You, the ugly braced brat, are the girl of his nightmares. As a matter of fact, you're giving me daymares by just standing there. I can still hear your shrill voice in my head, even when you're not speaking._

"I'm the same age as you," Tootie retorted, making her bristle. Duh! She knew that, who didn't? But she sure as heck didn't act like it.

"Perhaps biologically, but physically and mentally? You're still a little girl, playing with dolls. Now, if you don't mind, I'm off to my date with Timmy. Have fun with your doll, that's all you're going to have of him.

"Maybe if you're lucky, he'll give you a kiss!" Cackling, Trixie flung up the letter Timmy had written her and another note, one stating quite clearly she'd better butt out. Now her work here was done.

Smirking broadly, Trixie walked off her lawn and back to the limo. She wasn't going to bother walking to Timmy's house when she could be driven in style.

Now, it was off to her date. She'd taken care of all the obstacles in her way, hadn't she? No one else was that Timmy obsessed, right?


	3. The Date Seen but not heard

Author's Note: This is an experiment. Of what sort, I guess you'll find out. Oh, and I gave Trixie a middle name of "Elizabeth". It just seemed to fit.

Disclaimer: I don't own FOP.

Chapter Three: The Date- Seen but not heard

Even if she was the one to ask him out, it was still she whom remained anxious. It was actually her first real solo date, considering that Tad and Chad weren't really her type anyway and she'd dated them for strictly appearances. Besides, she'd dated them knowing full well she really liked Timmy.

Although his house was a mere four houses down from this repugnant brat, Trixie refused to walk (she must arrive in style) and so sat in the back of the limo, drumming her fingers impatiently on the plush black leather. If the driver found this annoying, he kept mum, perhaps because he was paid to keep his mouth shut and his eyes on the road. She should be grateful, but, since her nerves were just about shot to heck over having to sneak around and the idea of a date with _him_, she could scarcely think.

She was beautiful, she was popular, and she was the best Timmy could get. So why was she so nervous?

After all, she liked him and she knew, from many, many experiences, that he was nuts for her. And didn't people who liked each other that much go on dates? Of course they did, just to see if they were compatible. But she already knew they were compatible…so why were they going out on a date?

Clearing his throat and jerking Trixie out of her daze, the chauffeur swiftly informed her they were there. He needn't have bothered- she saw Timmy from the window; he sat atop the step and murmured to two animals, a pink squirrel and a green bird preening itself. Briefly, she mused on the idea that these creatures would trail him as they usually did, but the idea held no interest for her and she dropped it.

Ignoring the pounding in her chest and the ringing in her ears, she coolly sprang forth from the limo, door held open for her. The pink and green animals scrutinized her, the green bird grinning toothily and the pink squirrel spitting out an acorn in distaste. No, she had to be imagining this, animals didn't understand her.

Smiling serenely, Trixie called Timmy's name and he nearly fell of the step, his face scarlet. The bird appeared to snicker but the squirrel glared. She was not mistaken- the squirrel disliked her. Hmm, she really had to converse with Timmy about this.

Taking as much time as humanly possible, she ambled up to him. His eyes were fixed straight upon her and her fabulous ensemble, a pink outfit with a black stripe down the side. Her mini-skirt went halfway to her knees and prominently displayed her legs. Yeah, she was hot and she knew it.

He rose ungainly to his feet, tripping again and landing on her. Smiling widely, she caught him, wrist held out. God, so much heat came from his body, it was as though he incubated something. (Not that she was complaining, mind you).

Quickly, she checked his watch- a half hour late, pretty nearly on the dot, nice. Although, without realizing it, her fingers had closed on his wrist and she'd held it for a good half minute. Oops, but his skin was so smooth…

Crimson like he, she released him and murmured they should get going. Save the shenanigans for the date. Besides, just because she dressed trendily didn't mean she was going to screw around in public.

They walked midway to the car when her cell phone went off. Timmy gazed at her, apparently stunned she had a phone. She'd forgotten he was so poor.

Cursing her bad luck, she consulted the caller i.d. only to realize, to her chagrin, it was her father. God, she hoped he didn't have global tracking. That would be just her luck, wouldn't it? To gather up the courage to ask him only to be halted just before it began.

After they exchanged the usual pleasantries, she heard her father's voice take on a deep, serious tone. This was not good. Whenever her father began talking like this, it meant a lecture of some sort.

Lo and behold, she was correct. Like her mother, before she'd left, he warned her on the dangers of being alone with boys. Apparently, her age mattered little to him.

No matter how hard she tried to appease him, he would not be placated. Somehow, his father senses were tingling and he felt as though, if he put his hand through the telephone magically, he could reach out and touch a boy. Okay, so she liked boys and spending time with them. Was that so bad?

Naturally, he jumped the subject to Timmy. His memory was far from horrid and he remembered everything about Timmy's 'rescue'. Once again, he reminded her how little he liked this boy and how angry he would be if she dated him.

Timmy, who could hear everything, drew back with a grimace at those words. Grand, just what she wanted him to hear, how deadset against him her father was. As if in response, the pink squirrel, still at Timmy's side, pulled another face.

His next few words nearly made her drop the phone. These were the dire consequences if she ever dated Timmy, and none of them were in the slightest bit pleasant. Many of them made Tootie's existence seem happy.

Growling, he informed her he would be patrolling the mall, making sure she was only dating boys he approved of. He informed her she had better be at the mall, and with a rich boy, or else. She quaked to find out the 'or else'.

Slamming the cover down none too gently, she turned to regard him. All she saw in his eyes was hurt- they'd gotten this far and he was still being rejected? It had to be astonishment rooting him to the spot.

The chauffeur glanced at her, pressing a button on his consol. Trixie would have gone to find out which button this was, but Timmy blocked her view. He wasn't pained now, he was livid.

He accused her of leading him on- how true that used to be. But not now, a distinction she tried to explain to him. That was when he was a plaything and she wasn't interested. That wasn't the case.

Before they even had their first date, they had their first argument. He seriously thought she was going to dump him before they were official; he'd set himself up for rejection yet again. It made her heart ache to see him do that.

Sighing heavily, she did the only thing she could think of to prove she did in fact like him. Cupping the back of his head in her hands, she leaned over and kissed him softly on the lips. And, as expected, he nearly fainted.

His lips were a little callous, a little sweaty, but delightful to push hers against. If she opened her mouth slightly, she could taste them, making him shudder. Well, there was always time for this later, wasn't there?

Just as she broke off the kiss, the pink squirrel vanished and a pink dog stood by him. It nipped him in the ankle, barking some nonsense. Whatever it was, Timmy seemed to understand somehow and blushed again.

Angry at the mutt for biting her beloved, Trixie promptly told it off and prepared to kick it when Timmy stood in front. This was his dog, apparently, and he would have none of her abuse. Go figure.

Befuddled, she led the way to the limo; the driver gave her an odd look, scrutinizing Timmy. Something was up…

The dog, thankfully, did not accompany him into the car, nor did the green bird. Instead, she noticed a pink and green cup, but ignored it. This was normal, pink and green animals were not. Sure, she didn't remember putting those cups there, but perhaps someone else had. She wasn't going to worry her pretty little head over it.

Crossing her legs, she leaned back on the seats, waiting for him to sit. He wasn't exactly sure where she wanted him to, adorable. Finally, she yanked him down beside her and wrapped an arm around him.

The cups had faces…one frowning, the other grinning. If she looked hard, it was as if they were speaking. But that wasn't possible, was it? Of course not.

They spent the ride conversing about everything, only she feigned interest in video games and he in makeup. Besides, many of the topics he thought were so new to him were really old news to her. But he hadn't hired a special investigator, had he?

Making a show of it as per her request, the driver halted before the entrance of the mall and Trixie's grip on Timmy grew tighter. In fact, if she held him any tighter, he'd suffocate. But she couldn't help it, lurking somewhere was her father.

The next few hours were spent avoiding him and miraculously having fun. She bought him a whole new wardrobe, held his hand, and indulged in a forbidden ice cream (she had to keep her figure, after all). They ate it while they walked around, she cruelly mocking the people on the levels below.

And yet, no matter what, she always saw pink and green. Whenever she called Timmy on it, he'd get very defensive and change the subject. Weird behavior…

They stopped to eat lunch, her stomach growling. After he ordered and brought the food to the table, they ate, in relative silence. She could swear, when she turned her back, he whispered to the salt and pepper shakers. The pink pepper shaker was displeased, if that were possible.

Like a gentleman, he bused the table and the pink and green shakers were gone again. She really needed some more sleep, if she kept seeing things.

Grabbing his hand, they walked happily down to the electronics store. This had to be the best day in her life…

However, walking out of the store, his hands full of packages, was her father. He glanced over at them, and Trixie tried to pull them out of his line of sight, but to no avail.

"Trixie Elizabeth Tang!"

Uh-oh.


	4. Slim Chance

Author's Note: This will probably be the last chapter in past tense. I found my muse and it's in present, apparently. J

And thank you for all the people who try to and continue to bring ObiOtaku16 to justice for stealing The Other Saga in her story, The Dark One. Report her, folks! Justice!

Disclaimer: Although I do not own the characters herein, I do own the plot. Don't steal, people. I'll bring you down.

Chapter Five: Slim Chance

Trixie stared at him for a few seconds, still clutching Timmy's hand. Her heart began to beat like a jackhammer in her chest and she found it difficult to breath. So this was what it was like to be caught…she didn't much relish it.

Timmy gazed at him as well, like a deer in the headlights. He gawked at her, gawked at him, and she wished to God he'd just shut his damn mouth and walk away. She was in enough danger as it was, she didn't need him to act like a moron and add to it.

"Trixie Elizabeth Tang," Mr. Tang continued, his voice maintaining a cool tone which told her she was in, if possible, far greater trouble than imagined, "Who is this?"

"Hi, I'm Timmy," Timmy said cheerfully, completely oblivious. Trixie smacked a hand to her face. Good Lord, if that boy were any denser, he'd sink in the water.

"I know who you are," Mr. Tang snapped, shoving him away from his daughter. He then took her by the arm, about to chew her out. Timmy attempted to follow but a nasty glance halted him in his tracks.

"Stay here."

And there was that.

--------

"I told you you'd get caught!" Cosmo cried gleefully, a green bag on his lap. He kept jumping up to examine what other people purchased- Timmy had to claim there were Mexican Jumping Beans in there. The lie fell flat though, when someone informed him those type of beans jump in the sunlight, and, not only was it cloudy, the sun wasn't visible from that part of the mall.

"And that's a good thing _how_?" Timmy retorted, throwing a penny into the water fountain directly adjacent to the bench he sat upon. He had to exercise great caution not to throw Cosmo in there too- stupid Mexican jumping beans.

Wanda stared blankly at Cosmo. "How much sugar did you _have _today?" (She, of course, was a sedate book beside Timmy. And, unlike her counterpart, she wasn't jumping about like a little kid on a sugar high).

"It's good because that means you can stop avoiding Tootie and finally get the nerve to ask her out instead of making her a one night stand," Cosmo answered, finally ceasing because he almost fell off the bench and got trampled.

"A one night stand isn't when you kiss someone, it's when you…" Wanda began but stopped, feeling Timmy's eyes on her. Yes, well, he was a bit too young to know what a one-night stand was, at any rate. And she didn't really fancy telling him, either.

"When you…" Timmy asked, momentarily forgetting that Cosmo had just suggested he dump Trixie and go with Tootie. "When you what, exactly?"

"When you have Barry Manilow on real soft and the girl's tipsy off the wine and-" Cosmo began but Wanda elbowed him, hard. This time, Cosmo really did fall off the bench, but she made no effort to help him when no less than twenty people stepped on him. She was staying away from wine for a while.

"What he means to say is that perhaps you treated Tootie a little unfairly and you should give her another chance. You-" Wanda began but, yet again, she was interrupted.

"You did the dine and dash!" Cosmo cheered.

"What the heck are you talking about? I didn't eat her!" Timmy said defensively, not understanding just why Cosmo started sniggering when he said that. Why wouldn't someone let him in? What was so funny about eating a girl? That was terrible! Only cannibals did that!

Under her breath, Wanda muttered, "I have two morons to deal with…" Fortunately, no one heard her.

Sighing heavily, Timmy grew morose. He hadn't realized Mr. Tang hated him so much and he really wasn't intending for Trixie to get into trouble. Maybe she could talk things through with him and they could try again. Mr. Tang couldn't be _completely _heartless….

------

(Meanwhile, being chewed out over by the restrooms)

"I can't believe you agreed to go out on a date with him after we explicitly agreed that no such thing would occur! That boy is a menace to society and to our sanity!" Mr. Tang thundered, jabbing his fist in the air.

"I don't think he's that bad, Daddy…" Trixie murmured, casting a desperate glance at him. God, he looked so dejected…poor Timmy…

"_I _do. Since when do _you _tell me who you are and aren't dating? I am the parent in this household, not you, young lady!" Every anger word caused her to retreat, to the point where her back was against the wall. Patrons stared at them and she wished she could sink into the floor and just die.

"But, Daddy…he isn't really bad, just sort of…" Unattractive? Stupid? No, wait, she needed a positive adjective here. Darn, she knew she should have paid more attention in English class.

"Sort of a homicidal maniac that deliberately gave my daughter a flower that he knew would hurt her!"

By now, the tomatoes can't compete with the lovely shade of red she had; she prayed Timmy can't hear him from here. Actually, she also prayed her father will shut up and change his mind, but she knows he wasn't in the business of making miracles happen. Fairies did that, but there were no such things as fairies, everyone knew that.

"But he didn't know what the word 'seemingly' meant!" Trixie protested, aware of the crowd developing. Contrary to her normal opinion, she would very much like for them to disperse, instead of gawking at them.

"Because he's a moron and not fit to be accompanying my daughter five feet much less to the mall!" This, unfortunately, Timmy heard. His head sunk lower.

"Just because he isn't the smartest, best dressed, and richest boy doesn't mean that he isn't worth knowing! I happen to like him better than the popular boys, just because he isn't false like them! When he says he cares about something, he means it, which is more than I can say about you," Trixie screamed, precariously close to having a screaming match with her father.

"That's it! This date is over! You are grounded, young lady! You-" Mr. Tang's face was absolutely scarlet; his hands trembled in rage. Trixie wondered what stopped him.

"Excuse me," Timmy said, his hands on his hips; she winced- such a girly action. Another thing her father needed to see, pink coupled with a feminine response. She'd be lucky if she got to say goodbye to him at this rate.

"I happened to overhear everything (because you weren't terribly quiet when you reprimanded her) and, seeing as I'm her date, I think I'm entitled to defend myself," Timmy said slowly. If she didn't know better, she'd say a pink book fed him his lines, but that was preposterous. Nevertheless, she'd never known him to be particularly verbose.

"I think you lost your chance when you threatened my daughter's life with that 'seemingly harmless' plant you gave her. And, if you ever step foot near her again, I'll call the cops," Mr. Tang threatened, grabbing Trixie by the arm.

"Stop!" Timmy screamed, running after them. Mind you, he wasn't running very fast, given he was the slowest runner in his class, but he was still running.

Panting, he halted right in front of them. "Please…give me another chance…I'll do anything…I really like your daughter, Mr. Tang…"

Scowling, he gazed down at him. Trixie crossed her gloved fingers (newly purchased) and awaited his reaction. Would he allocate them another chance? Timmy was worth it, wasn't he? Well, he didn't see things the same way as she did….

"Fine," Mr. Tang spat, surprisingly even himself. "Tomorrow, he eats dinner with us and we'll see then."

Exhaling sharply, Trixie launched herself at her father and hugged him. By now, no one was watching and it was safe. She thanked him profusely but he waved her off. The dinner would tell…


	5. Perceptions

Author's Note: Thanks to all my reviewers and I'm sorry this chapter took so long. I've been going through a lot...

In response to the comment about Trixie being shallow and only being portrayed like that in the show, I whole-heartedly apologize. I strive to give the FOP characters the depth they sorely deserve, and perhaps Trixie needs a little more. I'll do my best to try to delve into her.

Disclaimer: Contrary to what anyone thinks, I continue to not own FOP. Although I think I've explained things better than the show by far, I can't claim ownership. The writers just don't want the show to grow beyond a simple cartoon, whereas I do. That's probably why I'll never own it.

Chapter Five: Perceptions

After their meeting, the rest of the date progresses in silence. Neither speaks a word as Mr. Tang orders them back to their limo and they proceed to return to Timmy's house first, to drop him off, and then home. Well, in retrospect, it wasn't a _complete _disaster.

_But it might as well have been_, Trixie thinks dejectedly. No one has ever passed her father's dinner test and the cards are already stacked quite high against him. In fact, she can't think of a single way in which Timmy could make himself look good in his eyes, except if his parents were suddenly rich and he went on every television in the country and apologized for barging into the Tang's mansion due to a folly of his own.

She can't believe it's just one event that's got her father so displeased with him. Then again, she really shouldn't underestimate the power of first impressions on a family- once they found out that her mother was pregnant, never mind who the father was, she had to leave. She wasn't a Tang, nor would she ever be.

However, Trixie is a Tang, and with that name comes prestige. Prestige she understands she may lose, at least in social circles, by becoming Timmy's girlfriend. But is it all that grand? Is the glitter worth the deprivation of gold?

Fortunately, her father is not present in the limo driving back. She's free to discuss with Timmy what her father expects out of him, if only he'd listen. Apparently, he's so downcast from the argument, he barely notices her.

Sighing, she places her hand atop his. She doesn't want him to be as miserable as he's made himself; she wants him to be happy. Just because her father doesn't like him doesn't mean all hope is lost...although it might as well be...

Once again, the oddly colored cups make an appearance, but they pay them little mind. Wherever they come from, they are insignificant now and remain thus. The important thing becomes ensuring Timmy is no longer ignorant to what is obligatory.

"Timmy..." Trixie sighs, leaning against him. He blushes crimson and pushes her away. Of course, her father must have rendered him too frightened to make even the slightest move on her. He needn't be so worked up, she'd see him no matter what the situation merited, including sneaking out.

Warily, he ropes an arm around her waist. His heart beats frantically and he sees stars. He can't believe the prettiest girl in his class wants to be with him, of all people.

Well, that's what she assumes he's thinking. She can't tell for certain, naturally, but he _has _to be thinking this. What else could he be thinking, that he wants Tootie instead? That's a laugh; no one wants that repugnant little brat around.

And even if she _had _made a move on him, which, come to think of it, was more than likely, she knows he'd never reciprocate. He'd just shove her away and pine after her, the fabulous Trixie Tang...who is now within his grasp. The thought makes her smile.

For once, the first time in her life she's ever experienced it, Timmy is seemingly lost in thought, biting his lip pensively. No matter how she tries to coax him into a conversation, he will not be wheedled into it. So much for the perfect date...why didn't Cosmopolitan tell you about the dangers of your father coming in midway along a date? Surely all of their readers couldn't be adult females.

Time passes indiscriminately and they arrive quickly at his house. Trixie opens her mouth to say something, anything comforting, but he merely shakes his head, retrieves the oddly colored cups, and disperses. If she didn't know better, she'd swear there's a shadow moving behind the curtains at Tootie's house, watching them from afar. Nah, she's just paranoid because of her father.

Nevertheless, the date is over. All she has to worry about now is the dinner...joy. No one's ever passed one of her father's dinners, with or without her coaching. Timmy's doomed.

Together, they walk out of the limo and up to the door. Although she holds his hand, she senses no jubilation from him by doing so. His palms are sweaty, but a sneaky voice in her head whispers this might not be due to her. Why must her insecurity show now? He is hers, he will forever be hers, nothing less and nothing more.

"I guess I'll see you tomorrow," Trixie says sorrowfully, clasping his hand between hers. Once again, she wonders about the lack of emotional warmth from him. Why the chill? What has she done to merit it?

"Yeah..." Timmy echoes sadly, head hung low. Truly, he has no great confidence in himself and passing Mr. Tang's requirements- he's a dead pink hatted boy walking. The truth is evident in his eyes.

"Can you see me tonight?" She inquires anxiously, biting her pink glossy bottom lip. Grr, she despises this situation, feeling helpless, powerless. For once in her life, she's not the one calling the shots.

"Will your father let me?" Idly kicking a stone aside, he asks dejectedly. His hair falls over his eyes, but he allows it to remain there. Aw...now he looks even more depressed.

"Who said my father was involved in this?" Wagging her finger, she grins devilishly at him. "He doesn't expect you until tomorrow."

"So then what?" He gives her a quizzical look. Poor boy, he's so inexperienced. She's going to have to break him in...if she ever gets the chance. Darn her father.

"C'mon, Timmy, haven't you heard of sneaking out?" Yeesh...who's he raised by, monks? Who hasn't heard of sneaking out? Wouldn't that be the first thing to come to most people's minds? Then again, he isn't terribly smart...

"Yeah, but...I don't want to get caught..." He says uncertainly, causing her to giggle. Not only is he naïve, ignorant, and a little absent in the brains department, he actually thinks he's going to get caught. Will she have to teach him everything? (And will she have time...what if her father forces her bodyguards to follow her?)

A chill wind kicks up; she shivers. Unfortunately, as he has no jacket to offer her, he does not do the gentlemanly thing and place it around her shoulders. Oddly enough, he fails to warm her at all. What weighs so heavily on his mind that he forgoes the usual common decencies?

Scowling and irritated he isn't behaving in the manner with which she is accustomed to, she grabs his arm and drapes it around her. The curtains in Tootie's room shift again- so the little brat _is _watching them. Psycho.

"You're not going to get caught..." She lies, plastering a smile on her face. The thought suddenly occurs to her that her cell phone has a tracking device on it...and she has no idea if anything else she owns does. Both of them might be in a heap of trouble before they could say "fairy godparents" and spazz out.

However, as she said before, nothing can keep her from Timmy. She'll fight everything, including her father, to stay by him. Her father can go jump off a cliff, because Timmy means more to her than his stupid rules, rules that keep her mother away...

No longer turned towards him, she bites down harder on her lip and accidentally draws blood. Thoughts of her mother always invoke such a reaction in her, despite any attempts to stifle it. She wishes her mother were around to coach her on this...

"What's the matter?" Timmy asks, jerking out of his own reverie, whatever that might be, to gaze at her. (When she turned away, his arm fell to his side and he makes no efforts to alter its position). Finally, concern- she knew he cared. Still, a nasty voice whispers in her head, that's not what's troubling you, is it?

_I wonder where she is...I wonder how I could ever find her...Never mind. I'm a Tang, and she's an outcast. She's nothing to me, nothing! Now if only I believed that..._

"Hey," He says after a moment's pause, "I've seen your father but I've never seen your mother. What's she like?"

Abruptly, her whole façade freezes. Pivoting, she faces him again and glowers icily. Poor Timmy has done nothing to deserve her fury, but she can't help herself. Her mother is not the topic for casual conversation.

"I believe I have to return home promptly," She retorts, folding her arms across her chest. Placed in an uncomfortable situation, she always defers to the cool, collected self she feigns to be in school. To any other person who dare speak it to her face, the term would be 'defense mechanism'.

"Yeah, but you never answered my question..." Dumbfounded, he gawks. Almost as though it's written on his forehead, she can read him- 'what have I done wrong?' 'why are you being so cold?'. Well, if she could answer that, she'd have to tell him more than she ever planned to. It all returned to the idea that he was a boy...and not worthy of knowing her too personally.

"Got to go!" Chirping it with false bravado, she pecks him on the cheek, climbs into the limo, and it pulls away, tires screeching. One calamity avoided, but what's the next? The plagues that rocked Egypt have now come to Dimmsdale...

-------


	6. To Make You Smile

Author's Note: Nothing to say, really. Thanks to my reviewers.

Disclaimer: I own the depth I've given Trixie, but not her or her father, or anyone else FOP related. (mutters unkind things about the writers and the shallowness of their characters)

Chapter Six: To Make You Smile

Her fingers clasp the locket tightly, her eyes glancing to and fro. Agitated, her heartbeat increases erratically, her temples throb, and her palms sweat profusely. She paces her room, growing smaller by the second.

Trixie Tang is not prone to bouts of nervous fits, but this situation would definitely merit one. Contrary to her cool composure before, she's never actually 'snuck out' and doing so under her father's nose terrifies her more than she can say. That's how it started with her mother, sneaking out under her parents' eyes.

A slip of paper, one she's never noticed before, juts out from a dusty hardcover book in the far corner of her room. If either of those two objects were present before, she'd put her hair in pigtails and call herself Tootie. Yet, since they miraculously materialized, perhaps she ought to examine them. A small voice in her head whispers, could it be _hers_?

Searching through the house for possessions of her mother has proven quite fruitless in the past. Her father has, undoubtedly, scrounged around before her to prevent her from locating any. But there's always a fleeting hope he missed one...

Crossing the room, she scrutinizes the red leather cover, bound by a strap. If she didn't know any better, she'd say this is a diary of some sort. Her mother's? Her heart begins to palpitate.

Now that both the book and the odd piece of paper are in her hands, she settles down on the bed, her eyes constantly on the clock. At seven, she'll call him and they'll escape the drudgery of the house...if they don't get arrested first. What they do to prisoners in there gives her nightmares.

"From the pen of Patricia Eliza Montgomery," Trixie breathes. _My mother..._

For a second, all she can do is caress the cover, removing all traces of dust from it even if it means getting it on her hands. No longer is that an issue, her mother's words, her mother's thoughts, anything that can connect her to her, binds her to the spot. Patricia Eliza Montgomery...

However, before she can even think to begin reading, the note, folded neatly and sealed with a kiss (naturally, the lipstick faded a bit over time), tumbles out and onto the floor. One could hear a pin drop in that room...and, irrationally, Trixie prays her father can't hear the 'commotion' (were there any). She's sneaking out, she's overriding her father and reading a note and a diary of her mother- she's rebelling somewhat. Since she's never done this much in one day in her life, it's only natural she think she's apt to be caught.

**To my dearest Trixie,**

**By the time you get this note (if you even receive it, your biological father is dead-set against any interaction of any nature at all and, haplessly, it'll most likely be burned), I'll be long gone. There is so much I want to tell you, but no time to tell it in. As I construct this, I prepare to leave you and the world I knew behind.**

**I must start a new life, far from Dimmsdale, where my relations cannot hound me for the mistake I made, falling in love. Yes, once upon a fractured fairy tale, I thought I was in love. The angels sang, the birds chirped...and I became a fool in love.**

**Never fall in love, my daughter. It's the worst thing possible, because you lose control over your emotions and your body...Your own body and your lusts, desires; they betray you. If I hadn't been so foolish, I wouldn't be packing right now, leaving you naught but a few pictures, books, paintings, and a diary. (Given you see any of those).**

**I don't wish to say I wish you were never born, because that isn't true. For a few glorious weeks, I enjoyed motherhood and the sleeplessness and agitation it brings. I enjoyed it purely due to its fleeting nature.**

**Leaving you is one of the hardest things I must do, probably the hardest thing in my life. To leave a child, one whom you fostered within for nine months, cared for and loved, breaks my heart. If I could take you with me, I would, but I think your life will be better here, with your father.**

**You'll have all the nice things, all the popularity you could ever want, and you'll have boys trailing after you. Just be careful with the boys, though, and don't do anything you haven't planned well in advance. Desire and lust are dangerous things, my child, and they lead to horrible consequences.**

**I don't know when I'll see you again, if I ever will. I'll write as often as possible and, when you learn to read, I'm sure we can correspond. Just remember that I've always loved you and I always will.**

**Forever your mother,**

**Patricia Elizabeth Montgomery**

**P.S. I was forbidden to change my name to Tang.**

The note takes her breath away. If she wrote letters to her, and she never received them, then they must have been intercepted...as were the pictures, paintings, books, and any other things she might have left her. How _could _he! This was her mother, the only mother she'd ever have, and-

"Trixie Elizabeth Tang, we need to talk," Her father, without knocking, barges into her room. She barely has time to stuff the paper and the diary beneath the sheet before he enters.

"Yes, we do," Trixie retorts, bursting with a confidence she does not feel. "How many times has my mother sent me letters?"

"What?" Mr. Tang says, caught off guard. "What are you talking about?"

For the first time in her life, she retorts with a mild curse. "You know damn well what I'm talking about."

Now, his eyes narrow in anger. "Trixie Elizabeth Tang, how _dare _you-"

"How dare I? How dare you! I have every right to know my mother, to at least know what she looks like!" Biting her lip hard again (and, yet again, drawing blood), she glowers at him, but tears form in her eyes. No, she doesn't cry, that's not the Tang way. Tangs don't cry, they're proud and strong...but her mother...

"Your mother has no place in this conversation!" Mr. Tang hisses back, blood boiling. He thought he'd long buried any topic concerning her.

"Why?" Trixie snaps, tears brimming to the surface. "Because she did what I'm doing? Falling for Timmy, someone that my parent disapproves of?"

"I forbid you to see that boy again!" Strolling into the room, he scrutinizes the lump on her bed. God, no...don 't recognize it...She needs that diary.

"What about the dinner?" Her voice quavers- he's retracting that too? Just because she brought up her mother? But...that isn't fair! Why did parents feel it their need to ruin their daughters' lives?

"What about it?" Icily, he throws over the sheets but she flings herself atop the diary. More than Timmy, this diary means the world. Although it's not _her _world, it was her mother's and she'd do anything just to briefly be a part of it.

"You said you'd give him a chance!" _You liar. _Burying her face in the sheets, tears cascade down her face and her body shakes with sobs. With all her heart and soul, she wants her mother right now. Maybe it's childish, but maybe she's sick of acting like an adult when she's only ten.

"Trixie..." Settling next to her, he smoothes her hair. Okay, so he may be strict sometimes, but he does want her to be happy. Ignoring the stigma her mother left on the family, if she truly does want to be with Timmy, then...

"Yes, I did. Tomorrow night, but if he doesn't prove himself then..." Leaving the threat dangling, he kisses the crown of her head and sighs heavily. "I'll be right back."

Lifting her head, she watches her father leave the room, returning to throw a humungous pile of envelopes on her bed. Looks like she has some reading to do...


	7. Open House, Open Heart

Disclaimer: I don't own FOP, sorry, folks.

Chapter Seven: Open House, Open Heart

Her breath catches in her throat as she slowly creeps along the walls. Fortunately, her father has decided to attend a country club meeting of some sort, leaving only the servants and help for her to evade. And, oh, yeah, the pack of killer dogs that'll tear Timmy limb from limb (they're trained to kill him at the first whiff of his scent), but she needn't worry about that now.

Clutched in her hands are letters, only about ten or twenty, since she's left the rest in her room. On the walk over there, she'll read (taking care not to walk into anything as she does so) and gain a sense of her mother. Just touching them fills her with a certain sense of jubilation and the irrevocable attachment to the past. All things cycle.

Placed on the table right beside the door is another letter, this one postmarked today. For ten years, her mother has sent her letters…she has a lot of reading to catch up on, but she'll start with today's. Personally, she can't believe her mother would continue to write to her, knowing she doesn't reply. Unless her father told her something…

Suddenly, her cell phone rings and she jumps, startled. Fingers tightly crossed, she prays it's her mother, somehow, some way…just because she's ostracized doesn't mean she can't speak to her, right? She doesn't even know what her voice sounds like…

"Trixie?" Timmy says, uncertainly, causing her to curse mildly. Darn, she'd forgotten she'd given him this number. What on earth is she supposed to tell him, though? _I'm sorry, but I can't talk to you because I'm waiting for my mother, located who knows where because there's no return address on the envelope, to call? That I want to talk to her so badly, I almost hung up on you when I heard your voice?_

"Hi, Timmy," She replies, casting all dejection out of her voice. He is her boyfriend…technically. Any laments over her mother should remain private- they aren't any of his concern. She wants him to be happy, not boggled down with her past.

"What's the matter?" Dang, he's sharp. There's only a trace of sorrow in her voice, but he still picks up on it. She makes a mental note to remain cool and collected when she speaks to him, lest he discover anything more she longs to keep secret. The thought never occurs to her relationships mean being open, but since neither of them practices this, it doesn't faze her.

"Nothing." Slipping a perfectly manicured finger inside the envelope, she gasps as a picture slips out. Beside her mother is another man, and she holds up a wedding ring…her mother has married another. Why this shocks her she can't say, but…

Tersely, he shoots back, "Don't lie to me. You got all defensive when I mentioned your mother."

Stunned, she drops the phone. No, she was wrong- her mother hasn't just gotten married, she's got children. These are her half siblings, who look nothing like her…but they're so happy…Her mother's gotten over her.

"Trixie?" Timmy calls urgently. It takes a few seconds for her to realize she's being paged. Of course, it was unfair to think her mother would never marry and remain fixated on her…but she's making a life without her. She doesn't matter to her…

Shattered, Trixie sinks to the floor, her fingers searching for purchase on the picture. She needs a sign, any, that her mother still cares about her…if this is the most recent letter…maybe it was just to tell her she doesn't care about her anymore. That she's living her life, and Trixie has no part of it.

"No…" Unbidden, a tear slips down her face and she wraps her arms around herself. She has to get out of here…she…she wants to let Timmy in. At least if he knew, he'd be able to do something about it, albeit only comforting her. No wonder her father kept her away from her mother for so long…

"Trixie!" Timmy cries, anxious. Isn't that cute, he cares? He cares…she has to get out of here.

"I'll…I'll talk to you in a few minutes, Timmy. Meet you at the park," Trixie says quietly, cutting the connection before he can reply. Her hands are slick with sweat, her face with tears. The cool, collection breaks down…

Right, she'll meet him there, if her legs will support her, that is. Currently, they don't seem to want to do anything but collapse. Her world has collapsed…

-----

She has no idea how she walked all the way to the park nor does she remember doing so. Maybe because her head was so boggled down by thoughts of her mother, the letter she has yet to read, and her step family…A family she doesn't want.

"Trixie!" Timmy calls, running over to her. This, of course, takes a few minutes as he's the slowest runner in the class and is easily outstripped by passing butterflies. So much for the typical train pulling away from the station routine- he'd never get anything to get at that speed.

Biting her lip (and, yet again, drawing blood, her lip is covered in scabs), she forces herself to look into his eyes. Now, all she has to do is lie her way out of this, deal with what's more important, the dinner. Her mother doesn't affect him; he doesn't need to hear about it. Too bad she can't delude herself…

"Hey," She says shakily, shivering in spite of the warm breeze passing. _C'mon, Tang, focus. This isn't about your mother, your step family; it's about the dinner and keeping him around. You don't want him to get eaten alive by your father's pit bulls, do you?_

"Are you okay? You didn't sound so great on the phone and…" His eyes stray to the picture grasped in her right hand. He reaches for it, but she pushes him away. They wrestle for a few minutes, until, ultimately, she relents, showing him.

"Who is this?" Timmy inquires, examining the picture. Of course he doesn't recognize her mother; she doesn't look terribly like her, especially in that photo. She takes after her father in the looks department.

Sighing heavily, she flings herself atop the nearest bench and finally opens the letter. Timmy sits beside her, puzzling out the contents. Between the two of them, they might be able to figure out something.

"I don't understand why would you have a picture of a family that you don't even know?" Or maybe not.

Scanning the letter, her face tightens: so her mother is coming here, to visit. Apparently, her father's recent act of charity was precipitated by a lengthy discussion and not a spur of the moment action. Nevertheless, her mother arriving here, and meeting her for the first time in ten years, fills her with trepidation. Just because she's her mother doesn't mean she has to love her…

Quivering, Trixie points her mother out and shuts her eyes tightly, squeezing past a few tears. "Do you see that woman there, with the shoulder length dirty blonde hair and purple eyes? That's my mother…"

"She doesn't look much like you," Timmy says blatantly, causing her to mentally slap a hand to her forehead. What taste in men she has…she couldn't find better if she went to the freak show.

"My father prefers it that way." Sighing again, she rests her head on his shoulders. His face grows scarlet- she kisses his cheek, turning her head to kiss his lips, but he turns away. What weird behavior…

"Huh?" Trembling, he lightly brushes away her tears. Maybe that's why he didn't kiss her before, he's afraid to. She really has to break him in…the dinner!

"Never mind. We have other things to consider," Trixie says, plastering a humungous smile on. Changing the subject should make her stop crying, right? It'll make her forget her mother's impending visit, her step-family, and the whole mess.

"Yeah, it says in the letter that-"

"The dinner!" She hisses, snatching the letter and picture away. Enough of that, she has more pressing matters. But she'd prefer Timmy were more affectionate…

"Oh, yeah…but that's a done deal, isn't it? Your father hates me…" He hangs his head and, for the first time, she spots a pink and green squirrel observing them. What the heck? Why are they following them?

"I can show you how to behave, so he might approve of you," Trixie replies, kissing him lightly on the lips. Again, he almost passes out. However, he continues to refrain from kissing her back…

For the next hour and a half, she does her best to tutor him. Several times, she sees him space out, irking her to no end. What's he keeping from her? Then again, she's keeping things from him…

"Stop," She finally interjects, placing her hand atop his. "We have to talk."

Breathing deeply, she proceeds to tell him everything…


	8. For Those Who Dare to Dream Welcome to R...

Author's Note: Thanks to all my reviewers. Nothing else to say, really.

Disclaimer: I don't own FOP...unfortunately. Heh, heh.

Chapter Eight- For Those Who Dare To Dream (Welcome to Real Life)

Biting her lip, Trixie rereads every single letter of correspondence left her. However, no many times she reads the same words, she can't feel her mother behind them. It all feels like someone else, someone far away, pens them. She can't feel her mother behind it.

Timmy said nothing after she was done. What's worse, she can sense a lie behind his eyes, something longing to be expressed yet is suffocated due to reasons of his own. She doesn't understand- she was completely honest with him, why can't he be the same? Why does he always look at her with only half, feigned interest?

He didn't even put his damn arms around her! What's his problem, being her boyfriend yet keeping so many secrets from her? She told him the horrors of her past, let him in when she's never done so before, and how does he repay her? With silence!

Silence...like the sound of her mother's voice. The thought occurs to her she has no idea what her own mother sounds like. She's never seen her in person; never spoke to her...she only knows her through her writing. In every sense, she's a stranger to her.

And she's coming here soon. Trixie doesn't have any time to prepare for the fact the woman that gave birth to her, who no longer seems to need her. Why on earth is she coming here, anyway? Just to make sure her father didn't murder her?

Sighing, she draws her knees to her chest and glances out the window. The dogs bark peacefully, playing their little games. Every once in a while, a fool runs out to feed them their hourly raw steak and ducks back in, before they dine upon him. But nothing's out of the ordinary.

Yet, everything is. In a matter of days, Trixie will come face to face with the person responsible for her existence...and she'll treat her like she's just another child. There'll be no specialty in the way she looks at, no love in her eyes...she's not even her daughter as far as she's concerned. The idea tears a deep, binding gash in her heart.

"Mom..." Trixie whispers, trying the word out. It comes out as hollow as her mother's letters. No embraces for her, no late night talks, no discussions over boys...nothing. She's never going to have a mother to talk to...

"Trixie?" Her father calls, respecting her privacy by knocking but asserting himself as her father by coming in anyway.

"Dad?" She murmurs, fingers lightly splayed across the lies. Tears blur her vision, but she bites them back. No, she has to deal with this on her own, without any help. After all, she knows none is forthcoming from Timmy...

"In four days...she'll be here." He doesn't need to clarify- the only she important in her life is her mother. God, if she's coming that quickly...she really has no time to prepare. She's just like Timmy, thrown into a situation and clearly under a disadvantage.

Both sighing heavily in unison, Mr. Tang descends upon his daughter's bed and slips an arm around her slender shoulders. However, she does not want her father's comfort at the moment, and, glowering, she worms her way out of his arms' grip. If Timmy cannot placate her, she does not want her father to.

Outside, the sky is pitch black, the stars sparkling like diamonds. Diamonds...what did money bring you? It certainly wasn't happiness- Timmy's happy enough without it, and look at her. She certainly isn't...if it weren't for money and the social stigma attached to it, her mother would hold her right now.

"Mom..." Trixie murmurs again, rolling the word around in her mouth. It tastes funny, like an unknown food. Mom...mother....

"Don't get your hopes up, Trixie. Your mother has moved on with her life-"Mr. Tang begins, walking up behind her. Sometimes, parents are just clueless as to when their children need them...and when they want them to just back off. This, of course, is a situation of the latter.

"And whose fault was that?!" Trixie snaps, spitting with anger. "You shoved her away, you never allowed me one phone call with her. Not a one! As far as you were concerned, I was immaculately conceived!"

"That isn't-" Another thing he ought to know by now- never interrupt a woman scorned. Might be the last thing you ever do.

"Yes, it is, it's true! The same as every single thing written in these letters are lies! They aren't even in her handwriting! You lied to me...you're no better than the people who forced Mom to abandon me!" Trixie cries, shaking with unshed sobs. She has to get out of here, even if it's just to roam the streets. Remaining in the same room as him breaks her heart even further.

"I wanted to keep you from the truth," Her father says helplessly, looking at the notes his daughter was supposed to buy hook, line, and sinker. How could she have seen through them? They were so insidious, so clever...

"What is the truth? Tell me, _Dad_. What does she really think of me? Is she really coming? How much of what you say and what's written here is truth?" Trixie shrieks, on the verge of tears but keeping them at bay until she could express them in the solitude of her room, minus her father, of course.

Sighing heavily but respecting her desires, he responds, "Your mother is coming here in four days. That's true...everything in the diary is true...But the letters are not. None of them, that's why I left today's hanging around. Within two weeks of her leaving, she stopped writing, stopped trying to contact you at all. The only reason she's coming here is because of a business deal."

His words hang in the air like a putrid scent. For a second, she could swear she suffers from heart failure..._two weeks after she left..._ When Trixie was who knows how old, her mother decided she was no longer important and abandoned her. There's no hope of talking to her at all...

"I never intended for you to find that diary or the note inside. The servants were careless; they shall be dealt with accordingly. Do not try to seek out your mother- she will not recognize you." Turning on his heels, Mr. Tang exits, pausing when his daughter asks him one last thing.

"Does that mean...my mother doesn't look like that? And she isn't married with kids and-"Trixie stammers, a tear sliding down her face. As soon as he leaves, she's going to call Timmy and meet him again. She doesn't give a damn if it's ten o'clock...

"I don't know about the kids," Her father replies briskly, "but that isn't your mother in that picture. It's a newspaper clipping."

Finished, he shuts the door. Trixie begins to sob in earnest, doubled over. Her heart is broken...

------

It's cold and dark outside. She doesn't care; at least she's stopped crying. The salty, bittersweet tears have left their mark on her face, as her father's words have done on her heart. For the first hour, she never thought she'd stop sobbing.

Now she knows all her dreams were for naught. Her mother's only coming here for a business deal, nothing more. She might as well have dropped off the face of the earth, for all her mother cares. Just because she gave birth to her, it means nothing to her...

The wind whips her hair to and fro, but she pays it little mind. Let nature batter her, at least it's more of a mother than her own. It takes care of her young, instead of forgetting about them two weeks after it leaves. Even if she's stopped crying outwardly, her heart weeps inwardly.

She told her bodyguard not to follow, she remembers that distinctly. Let him do whatever it was he did alone, without the added trouble of watching after her. If anything happens to her, well, she'll take care of herself.

But she doubts anything will. Dimmsdale is a quiet, peaceful town. Nothing important has ever happened here, nothing that wasn't fabricated. The most she'll run into after dark is a confused tourist.

Hugging her neon jacket to her body, Trixie looks up, at the hooting owls. Do they know why the caged bird sings? Do they care?

A pink squirrel, oddly enough, cocks her head and settles on the bench beside her. When she looks at her, she sees intelligence, creeping her out. Squirrels aren't smart enough to understand her, much less show pity.

She doesn't want her pity, either. All she wants is either her mother...or Timmy. If Timmy's supposed to be her boyfriend, why is he only physically there for her? What about emotionally?

Maybe she ought to find out. If he's willing to sneak out to meet her again, she'd appreciate it. This pink squirrel could carry a message, couldn't she? She didn't doubt it.

Picking up her cell phone, she makes another dicey call.

"Timmy...I need you..."


	9. Surface Impressions

Author's Note: Hectic time right now at my 'house', so sorry for the late update. That and I really need to start thinking about colleges...

Disclaimer: I don't own FOP, but I do enjoy writing it. Although, if I may, why does Nickelodeon run the same reruns of FOP every weekday at seven? Yeesh.

Chapter Nine: Surface Impressions

After she's finished, there's utter silence. Not a sound can be heard, save from their breathing and any local habitants. Trixie awaits with bated breath his response.

"Wow..." Gazing at her, his mouth agape, Timmy discovers he has nothing to say in response. Relationships aren't supposed to have secrets, this one does. However, if he told its secret, the relationship would be over. He can't do that to her...besides, he doesn't like Tootie, right? Er, right?

"That's all you can say?!" Trixie shrieks, frustrated. "I told you basically my whole life story and all you can do is gawk at me like a moron?!"

"I'm sorry!" Timmy bursts out, jumping up. "I don't know what to tell you! It's not as though someone comes up to me every day and tells me that their father's been lying to them and their mother's MIA!"

"The least you could do is kiss me!" She blurts, stunned at her daring. He, too, shares her astonishment- if she isn't careful, with another outburst like this, he'll pass out at her feet. Like father, like son, at least, from what she can surmise. She wonders idly if the phrase, like mother, like daughter is true, but she'll never know for sure (at least, not until she has kids of her own).

"You want me to kiss you?" He repeats, completely oblivious. Mentally, she slaps a hand to her forehead. Don Juan, he is not. In fact, intelligent he is not as well. What on earth attracted her to him in the first place? Is there some sort of unwritten rule that, no matter how ugly the hero is, girls must fall all over him?

_No, Timmy, I want you to get on your knees and ask me to marry you. Of course, it might be a little unusual since we're only **ten**, but I think you can handle being a young father. Sure, there's the fact neither of us has finished elementary school, but, hey, you don't need that much of an education to work in McDonalds, do you? How much schooling do you need to ask, "Do you want fries with that?"_

_Oh, and the social disgrace would be astounding, but I could always do what my mother did and just leave you. Who are you but the bastard father of my illegitimate kid? Well, give or take a few years for that..._

_How on earth could she have left me like that? What was she thinking? Why didn't she make any attempt to communicate with me after she left? Why didn't she take me with her?!_

_And now, she's coming here and all Timmy can say is 'wow'?! Like that'll summarize any and all feelings involving me and my relationship with my mother? It'll appease my feelings of worry, somewhat nausea, and rejection? 'Wow'? What a moron._

_Darn it, Timmy, I want you to do more than stare at me. I want you to sweep me off my feet, like you used to, just hold me and tell me everything's going to be all right. I know it might not be the truth, but it's what I want to hear. Don't you have any experience with that- the truth and what people **want **to be the truth? Lie to me._

_Isn't it amazing how crucial lies are to society? There are the little white lies that aren't supposed to hurt someone but might if you're not careful, then there are the lies the government tells the people, like 'the war on terrorism is going fine', then the lies parents tell their children 'this'll hurt me more than it's going to hurt you', and, finally, there are the lies we tell ourselves. Possibly, these are the worst lies, because we know the truth but we prefer to turn the other cheek...we **want **to hear we're wrong, we **want **to be happy, even if we're crying inside._

_For instance, I **want**_ _Timmy to kiss me, not just because I like him, but I want to know he cares, even if that isn't true. I'd prefer to believe he did, because that'll make things easier for me and, in turn, allow me to swallow larger lies. If he's there, somehow, magically, everything will be all right._

_Lies often cocoon, in a mass ball of betrayal and self-delusion. They build up, the smaller lies feeding the larger ones. If you can swallow a small one, you can work your way up to the big ones. Politicians do it all the time- they're called campaign promises._

_In a way, a promise can be a lie too, if it's used repeatedly and it's never carried out. They cushion your fall if you believe in one that you know will never happen, because you have a failsafe. 'Oh, I didn't do this, but it's all right because it'll be done someday'. _

_Someday, that mysterious day in the future when people won't need the lies, won't need the delusion, won't need the diet of falsehoods they dine upon daily. The world will be happy...but is that possible? Can we keep ourselves happy, but tell the truth? Or are lies needed to keep some people happy, the ones who desperately need to hear them?_

_Is that why we lie? Do we need to make the other person happy and tell them what they want to hear? Are we so selfish in making people happy, we don't think that maybe they need to hear the truth, that it could be more important than giving them lip service?_

_In high society, lip service is the only service known. People go to dinner parties and grieve if they're miserable, but only so long as it's 'proper'. Once it's not, they must shove any remorse to the side and become happy again. They plaster a smile on their face and act as though they don't care._

_That's what I'm going to have to do tomorrow in school. I'll waltz around, the queen of the bell, and I'll cry inwardly. Because that's the only lie I can't uphold, the one to myself. It's awfully hard to tell yourself the lie when you need the truth. _

_But still...I'd like Timmy to kiss me._

Smiling weakly and utter perplexed, Timmy places an arm on her shoulders and leans forward. She can tell he's terrified to lay a hand on her, as though she'll spontaneously combust if he kisses her. It'd be amusing if it were any other time, any other place.

Trembling, he does as she commands and kisses her. He's shaking so badly, she has to sit down with him on her lap before he ceases. The thought never occurs to her there might be another reason for his actions...

Smiling softly, she kisses him back, wrapping her arms around him. His blue eyes widen in astonishment, but, with a smirk, she shuts them again. Her hand remains on his face.

They stay like this for a little while, until Trixie breaks the lock. It isn't proper for two ten years to kiss for as long as they have and, besides, Timmy's grown so ashen, he resembles a ghost. Why would he pale, she wonders. That's certainly an odd reaction...

A quick glance at her watch tells her that it's time to go home, however, before she's missed. As much as she'd love to spend the evening with him, and her knees seem to agree with her, because they can't hold her up, she has to return to her house. She wasn't supposed to be out here once, let alone twice, with him. She'll see him tomorrow.

Sighing heavily, for different reasons, they depart. Well, one does...

---------

Timmy decides not to go home, however, and he sits on the bench; the wilderness surrounds him. Cosmo and Wanda join him, returning to their fairy forms. Wanda might get permanent indents in her face from frowning so much.

"Guys..." He says by way of beginning. Cosmo grins slyly at him, but Wanda elbows him. Lecture time, kiddies.

"I hope you're happy," Wanda huffs, her eyes glued to the path Trixie took to leave. Darn it, she didn't want to be, but now she's concerned about this girl. What on earth has her godson gotten himself into? Two girls need him now, and he's lying to both of them. If only there was a way to make them both happy...

"What do I do?" Timmy inquires, flopping down. Cosmo grins down at him, approving of the string of girls he's acquiring. His godson's a pimp- he's so proud. The only thing is, he can't tell him as much because, strangely enough, Wanda might take umbrage at it.

"Why don't you tell them the _truth_?" She snaps, arms folded across her chest. Once again, the order to follow Trixie enters her mind and, for once, she feels as though it's imperative she heed it. She doesn't like the idea of her walking home alone, long after the sunsets. She needs some sort of protection, regardless of how safe Dimmsdale appears to be, on the surface.

_Too bad I don't know what that is anymore. I'm not sure whom I'm attracted to, who I feel sorrier for, and-_

A small voice whispers in his head, _And you don't want to choose. Besides, you aren't sure if Tootie still frightens you- maybe you ought to just let her dangle. What's her big problem, Vicky? Well, too darn bad!_

_No! That isn't right, to cast her aside because of her sister. Just because she's got the nastiest sister on earth doesn't mean I should just disregard her. I mean, she might be freaky sometimes, but she can also be nice, right?_

_Still, _the voice counters, _Trixie's the _normal _one. Even with her mother, you won't have to worry about growing up and discovering Trixie's turned into a younger version of her older sister because, luckily, Trix's an only child. The only thing you have to worry about is her father and once he likes you, you'll have no problem._

_But is that right? I know I like Trixie and she likes me back, but...why do I like her? Because she's pretty? Is that fair to either of us?_

Sternly, his fairy godmother speaks through pursed lips. "I think, in the very least, if you can't make up your mind, you ought to come clean. You owe them that much."

Unhelpfully, Cosmo pipes up, irritating his wife to no end, "And if you don't choose, you can just have them both! Girls don't mind!"

Glowering, Wanda spins on him and spits back, "_Yes_, we do. We don't appreciate 'sharing' nor do we like-"

"Dead frog?" The green haired fairy inquires innocently, magicking a slimy, repugnant specimen. It splatters on her face and leaves a disgusting, green trail behind. Ugh, boy or girl, that's still gross.

Shuddering, she ignores him and confronts Timmy. "I'm not going to tell you what to do but-"

"Good, _don't _tell me what to do. I don't need it right now!" Timmy snaps, springing from the seat. He spots a hurt look crossing Wanda's face and a twinge of remorse afflicts him. _She was only trying to help..._

"I'm going to go check on Trixie," She states stiffly, peeved but remaining civil. _So he thinks he knows better than me? _**I **_was in the same position he's placing Tootie and Trixie in and look how much I like him now. I chose the green haired idiot over him._

"I'll go with you!" Cosmo grins cheekily and poofs needlessly next to her.

"I'd rather you didn't," Wanda replies, a trifle coldly. Darn, now she's doing the same thing as her godchild and scapegoating someone else. Poor Cosmo...she'll make this up to him later.

Head hung low, Timmy murmurs, "Sorry, Wanda..." Apparently, the thought occurs to him he might be causing Wanda's sudden mood shift.

Sighing softly, she accepts his apology and makes one of her own. However, she does not retract her statement- she will observe her alone. Cosmo would only serve as a distraction.

She vanishes, tracking Trixie by the almost imperceptible aura hanging about her. All humans have auras, unbeknownst to them and this aids their fairies in locating them. They just needed to locate the particular aura (when Timmy wished everyone looked alike, he accidentally erased others' auras, thus preventing fairies from finding their godchildren).

Cosmo gazes at the pink cloud, dissipating. What was _that _all about?

Dejectedly, aware he might have inadvertently caused a rift in his godparents' relationship, Timmy whispers, "I think I ought to go home now, Cosmo."

Waving his wand but improperly focusing, he takes them not to home, but to Rome, where an ancient gladiator fight occurs. They stand in the middle of the field, between two competitors, their blades drawn. If they don't move in a few seconds...well...Fairly Oddparents might need a new hero.

Cosmo hoots and proceeds to change his wand into a battle sword too, ready to take on both bloody thirsty contestants head-on. The thought never occurs to him they might just slice him in half and not think twice about it. Hey, when in Rome...

"Cosmo!" Timmy bellows, narrowly sidestepping one, charging towards his opponent. (The man doesn't even realize he's there). Trembling in fear, Timmy's eyes narrow angrily, terrified but also irked at the situation they are now in.

"Oops, sorry..." Waving his wand again, he takes them to a loan office, where a line of applicants goes out the door. Most are dot comers, whining about the internet and how good fortune can turn to misfortune.

"Home, Cosmo, home! Not Rome, not loan! HOME!" He bellows, jumping up and down. A few give him a sidelong glance, but most snicker and shake their heads. They don't see Cosmo; they only see what they deem a little boy throwing a temper tantrum.

This time, fortunately for both of them, Cosmo manages to bring them how, where Timmy finds a surprise waiting for him in the driveway...


	10. Love is in the Eye of the Beholder

Author's Note: Sick, extremely stressed, and just generally in a bad spot right now. As if you care.

Disclaimer: For the love of God, I don't own FOP! (sighs unhappily)

Chapter Ten: Love is in the Eye of the Beholder

Breathing hard, Trixie just about falls asleep when the phone rings. Naturally, she's quite annoyed. Who dares interrupt the slumber of the doomed?

In a few hours, as her clock reminds her constantly, her mother will be here, but not for her. For years, she yearned for a mother, someone to love her like no one else has in this cold, aristocratic society...and now that she has one, it's not the one she wants. Is it too much to ask for a compassionate woman in this world of fakes? Can there be a grain of truth in the lies?

Maybe it's her mother calling...the caller ID's out, for a change, so it could be basically anyone in Dimmsdale that got her private line. God, she prays it's her mother...she's never heard her voice...

Outside her room, she can hear her father shuffle around, pulling something down and putting something else away. Idly, she wonders what he's up to, and then decides she doesn't care. No matter how sweet he seemed about the matter before, it was his and his family's fault she has no mother and she won't forget that any time soon.

Unless he's secretly planning a meeting between them? Is that why he's moving things around by himself? (The servants have a tendency to gossip).

_Fool_, a voice whispers in her head. _Stop dreaming and grow up. Everyone's always telling you to be a young woman, but you're pretending that isn't true. That you have a right to a childhood because you're a child. It'll never happen and you know it._

Crossing her fingers, Trixie answers the phone only to discover a huge, unwelcome surprise. More than ever, she wishes her caller ID worked, because if it had, she'd never have picked up the phone in the first place.

"Trixie?" She hears Tootie call clearly and succinctly. Just the sheer pitch of her voice makes her want to vomit. That girl induces nausea in her every time she speaks with her.

"Yes?" She replies, irritated. "Who gave you this number?" _Because I'm going to shoot them. How _dare _they give out my private line...and cause me to hope my mother was going to call. Mom..._

"Timmy," Tootie says calmly, causing her to mentally curse. Well, she can't hurt him, that's for certain. No matter how much she'd love to, she just can't. She'll let this slide.

Seriously, though, her cocky attitude becomes grating. She yearns to reach through the phone and strangle its holder, ending the race for Timmy once and for all. What makes this girl think she has a right to him, anyway? He doesn't like her and he'll never like her. It's that simple.

After all, Timmy's telling her everything, isn't he? He'd never hold anything back, would he? But if he isn't...then why would she call her? To cry and scream? No, not unless it was in front of Timmy, which this isn't.

"And who are you?" Trixie snaps, mock suspiciously. Maybe she'll hear 'April Fools' (although April 1st is far away) or something. Maybe her mother will come on soon and tell her she's very good at ventriloquism and she's abducted Tootie, shoved her in a locker, and she'll never hear from her again. Wouldn't that be grand?

"What's the matter? Don't have caller ID?" Tootie retorts, peeved. _As a matter of fact, mine's out, but then I'm on the same page as you, aren't I? Oh, God, what a horrible thought, being a simpleton like you. Not only that, but also I'd be an obsessive loser too._

_What would anyone see in you, much less Timmy? Why on earth would you even think he'd be interested in _you, _of all people? Hello, ten year olds find shrines in their honor creepy, not attractive! Loser with a capital l._

"Tootie!" Trixie hisses, sick of dodging around the issue. Yes, she knows whom she is, just not why she called. And, in due time, she'll find that out too. Then, she'll be rid of the pest.

"Why the hell did you call me?" _And wake me up?! I was going to have some nice dreams, I think...of my mother cradling me to my chest...things I remember vaguely..._

_I just cursed, didn't I? Well, I can't help it, she's getting on my every last nerve! If I could, I'd...well, it's not polite for a lady to say that._

"To tell you...to tell you..." Tootie stammers, tripping over her words. Trixie smiles sardonically, noting that the girl clearly needs some public speaking classes. No wonder Timmy doesn't like her, she isn't eloquent. Heh, well, she isn't going to help her, that's for damn sure.

Tapping her fingers against her night table, Trixie watches the clock carefully. If she takes any longer than three minutes to complete her sentence, she'll hang up on her. It's as easy as that.

Idly, as her head is cocked to the outside, where she can distantly hear her father issue orders, she senses Tootie struggle against an internal conflict. She'd be lying if she cared, but it took up her time to keep deliberating. _Make up your mind already!_

Unbidden, a voice whispers, _and tell me if Timmy's been keeping things from me. I think he has..._

"What?!" Trixie screams, exasperated. "Why doesn't someone screen my calls?!" _Yes, I know I'm acting spoiled, but if she thinks that's what I'm really like, she'll hang up! I don't understand why _I _didn't hang up to begin with. I have nothing in common with this girl, aside from Timmy. _

_And, with any luck, she'll give up on him and free him up entirely for me. And pigs will fly..._

"Why, so miss pretty can't waste a minute and unfiled nails on those who aren't worthy?" Tootie shoots back, causing her to dig her nails into her palm so deeply, it begins to bleed. She's seeing red by now. What the hell does she think she knows? This pathetic loser knows _nothing._

_My life is more than being pretty, you know! I have problems, big ones. And I don't appreciate you trivializing them over a _boy_. You're lucky, you have both parents, but what do I have? A father who only cares when it serves his interests to, and a world of phonies. No one really wants to hear from me, they only hear what they want to. If I had any real ideas, they were lost a long time ago, in a galaxy, far, far away..._

"And you're just going to hang up on me, aren't you? You'd rather ignore reality than deal with it, that's the way it is with you perfect little rich girls! You have everything you could ever dream of, but you always want more!"

_I want to tear your throat out and dance on your corpse, _this is her first thought. It's followed by blood thundering in her ears and rapidness of breath. Screw acting like a young adult and mature, she's brought it down a notch. _Anything goes now, brat._

Snarling, Trixie retorted, "You have _no _idea what my life is like." _Nor how much I want to kill you right now...words cannot express that._

All she can say at the moment is this. Badly, she yearns to go off on a tangent and scream her lungs out. It'd be worth it, to deafen Tootie forever. If she can't legally kill her, stuff her body in a black bag, and heave it off a cliff, she can disable her.

"Oh, so the fine dining, servants, thousands of clothes, jewelry, maids, and everything I heard about on the movies, radio, and TV were all wrong? You don't have someone to wipe for you? How about making sure you don't have to lift a finger? No? B.S.!"

"That isn't the problem!" Trixie retorts, feeling herself on the verge of blurting out something she'd rather keep secret. _Keep cool, girl...the brat doesn't need to know..._

"Oh, really? Then what is? I'm _dying _to know!" Tootie hisses, sounding more like a snake every second.

"What makes your life so horrible, miss perfect? Tell me!"

"My mother's coming to town and she doesn't even know I'm alive nor does she care! She gave birth to me and then that was it! My family threw her out! At least you have your parents, bitch!" Trixie screams, spitting onto the receiver.

"What?!" Tootie chokes, taken completely aback. Whatever she anticipated, it sure as hell isn't this. Silence reigns, beautiful silence. Well, if she's done, she's going to hear her speak her part.

"And people _listen _to you when you speak! You aren't expected to be perfect every second of the day! No one bases their love of you on whether or not you can talk like a young adult! You have a childhood, damn it!"

"No one loves me, least of all Timmy! You stole him, you charlatan!" Tootie retorts, not entirely certain what the word meant but using it anyway. "You warped him so he could just forget that he kissed me-"

"What?!" It's Trixie's time to choke. Were anyone here worthy of it, she'd pass out from shock. For now, she'll just stare in disbelief. _Her _Timmy? No...she hadn't wanted to be right!

"When?" _Please be a long time ago, please...tell me it was a mistake! Lie to me, damn it! _

Tears begin to fall, despite her attempts to staunch them. This is the straw that breaks the camel's back, the final problem. _Mom and Timmy...God..._

"A-a few weeks before you two became a couple," Tootie stammers.

So he did it to avoid her...oh... 

"Don't cry," Tootie adds uselessly. "Please...I'm sorry..."

Instead, she hangs up on her. She doesn't need any more of this...

Lying back on her bed, Trixie Tang clutches her pillow and sobs in earnest.


	11. The Grass is Rarely Greener

Author's Note: I hope to God no strange little symbols pop up in here…although they don't on the site, only on my backup. Grr…at any rate, um, please read and review and thanks to everyone that already has.

Oh, and on a side note- if you don't believe Tootie, check out Once Upon a Fractured Fairy Tale. It's highly recommended to have a full perspective of both sides. After all, if you're the judge, don't you need to hear every side of a story? ;)

Disclaimer: I don't own FOP…too bad, though. It'd get a lot of people off my back if I did.

Chapter Eleven: The Grass is Rarely Greener

Outside, she can hear the wind rustle the trees. If she focuses on that, maybe she can miraculously staunch the flow of tears, soaking her pillow with their tangy salt. It doesn't help that her pillow's shaped like a heart, either.

She's doing her best to sob silently, so her father can continue whatever transaction occurs beyond and ignore her. She doesn't know what else to feel right now, other than betrayal and loneliness. Terrible, horrible loneliness- even the boy she liked doesn't really like her…she's alone in a world of phonies, with fake smiles and even faker concerns.

Sighing heavily, she glances at the clock, but decides against calling him. Some things are best left to a night's sleep, and she still hasn't fully processed Tootie's words yet. Part of her, of course, doesn't want to.

All her life, she's rebuffed people because they weren't 'worthy'. She never had an actual reason for doing so to Tootie and Timmy, but there were standards one must adhere to, and from her birth, she'd been taught to be pretentious. Therefore, she hadn't given Timmy more than a moment's glance before and Tootie…is just a loser.

However, for a loser, she has to give her credit. For instance, she has to be the nastiest loser she's ever met, to make up that stuff about Timmy and try to wreck their utopia. Does she really think that'll work, sabotage? She's going up against the mistress here.

The phone rings, jerking her from her reverie. God, not another call from the desperate loser! _Besides, _the nasty voice adds, _you don't need any more bad news._

No, it's not Tootie, as she'd prayed against, but her 'boyfriend'. Feeling an odd sense of déjà vu, she nearly drops the phone upon hearing his voice. _Please be a lie…I'll do anything, just say Tootie's a lying bitch and this never happened…_

"Trixie?" Timmy inquires, causing her to mentally slap a hand to her forehead. _No, Timmy, it's the pope. _

Biting her lip and struggling against the flood of tears threatening to envelope her, Trixie replies as coolly and as naturally as she can. Through experience, she's been taught to stifle her emotions- for example, that dreadful outburst before shouldn't have happened. She should have had more control, instead of letting Timmy hear her bemoan her misery.

"Hello, Timothy," Trixie replies, intrinsically sending frigidity. No one refers to him as such…not until her. Maybe that'll communicate to him just how upset she is. Then again, Timmy was never one to pick up on things, especially the blatant stuff.

"Huh?" He answers, as oblivious as she'd unfortunately predicted he'd be. "I'm Timmy."

Suppressing an extremely strong urge to scream, 'I know!', Trixie instead retorts, "I am aware of that. What do you want?"

_There, that's cold enough. I wonder how long I'm going to have to keep this up before he notices something's up. Then again, he chased after me after all that time and still didn't figure out that I wasn't ready for him yet. _

"There's something I have to tell you…" Timmy fidgets with the phone, she could tell. So, he decided to come clean- about a half hour too late. Damn…that meant Tootie was telling the truth…

"About how you kissed Tootie?" Trixie replies dully. "That you never really liked me to begin with?"

_I know that's unfair, but right now, I don't care any more. I opened my heart to him, I told him about my mother, and this is how he repays me? Well, screw that! _

_Nevertheless, there's the possibility that he didn't want to kiss her. Maybe she connived him into doing so or something. A girl can pray, can't she? Especially when it means having a leg to stand on when I hunt down my dear mother._

_She isn't going to visit Dimmsdale without a visit from me first. She can run, but she can't hide. Damn it, she gave birth to me and like it or not, she's going to hear from me. _

_But I'd prefer someone to have my back when I do it. Sure, I could confront her alone, but it's much easier to rebuff someone when they don't have support. I'd tell Veronica, but I'm not as close to her as everyone thinks I am. She's just like everyone else, pretending to be something she's not. In this case, it's me. (It's kind of creepy, though…)_

_Which leaves…Timmy. Have I really become so pathetic as to be dependent on him? How the high have fallen._

By retorting, Timmy jerks her out of her reverie. With a hint of astonishment, he replies, "What?!"

The shock of her reply has to be as effective as the shock of her downfall. Maybe they can reach some sort of agreement- launch Tootie over a cliff and they'll have a nice life. That is…if it doesn't hurt Timmy to throw her away like that. Frankly, right now, she doesn't know for certain.

Apparently, though, he'd vastly misjudged Tootie's tenacity and audacity. She could and would ruin Timmy's reputation, just to get her grubby little hands on him. God, that girl…no words exist sufficiently expressing Trixie's immense hatred for her. If she tried, she might end up going into animalistic howls.

Now all she has to wait for is the inevitable guilty confession, perhaps not even well thought out or caring, and the rest, or, rather, what's left of her heart can fall out of her chest and she can be at peace. No one can hurt her if there's nothing to hurt. That must be her motto from now on…just like her mother.

Maybe that's why her mother decided to stop sending her letters. Communicating with her must have been too painful…so she moved on. Trixie wasn't part of her new life…

There settles an awkward silence- she holds the receiver away, pressing it into the pillow. If she had her druthers, he wouldn't be aware of the amount of pain he's causing her, but, as it is, she must bury her head in her hands and sob, chary to keep him from finding out entirely. Tears slide down her cheeks, but she ignores them. By now, she oughtn't be foolish enough to think someone's going to come along and wipe them away. It's bad enough she's doing, but to expect comfort is ludicrous.

"Trixie…" He breathes. "I didn't kiss Tootie- she kissed me."

_Is that a lie or the truth? I can't tell any more. Please be the truth…please tell me you have no attraction to her and that you're mine, all mine. I know that sounds childish, but I'm a child, damn it! I'm sick of pretending I'm not._

_I'm just sick of pretending I'm happy when I want to scream and sob. I'm sick of pasting on a smile, agreeing with everyone's suggestions for a perfect life, and thinking all my problems will go away with a cure-all. For some people, they call therapy the answer, pills, or whatever. _

_But there is no magic cure all. Nothing will make the pain go away like that. People have to realize it, if they weren't being too pig headed not to listen. _

_And the people you really need…they won't let you see them. They're not up to their par or they're just out of the realm of visiting. They want to keep you reined in for the next lecture._

Sighing heavily, she grasps the receiver again and waits for the rest. It takes a while for her hammering heart to slow down to an acceptable rate. Honestly, she hadn't known she'd possessed so much anger against society.

"And I _did _like you…"

_Which implies you don't know. Gee, thanks, Timmy. At least I'm not old enough for this to be a one-night stand, although it comes pretty close. I wish I hadn't gotten my hopes up._

"I'm sorry I wasn't as attentive as I should have been when you were telling me about your mom…I have a really short attention span."

_Which _would _explain your grades, now, wouldn't it? I'd love to rant and rave at you for doing this to me, but my quarrel's not with you but the situation. Besides…if I got rid of Tootie, there'd _be _no situation. At the moment, it grows more and more tempting. _

"..and that's not the only reason. Thinking about the fact I kissed her back made me feel guilty, even though I still don't know why I did it."

_Because she's a manipulative little brat and she wants whatever she can get, no matter how she gets it? Because she has no concept of ownership? Or just because she wants to make my life a living hell?_

_And if it's the last one…then I only have myself to blame. I could have treated her a lot better before, but I chose to ostracize her and abuse her. In the grand scheme of things, she's only treating me the way I treated her…almost like when we were five and I forced her to eat that animal treat._

"You know that I liked you to begin with, I wasn't pretending…"

Unable to focus, she drifts in and out of his dialogue. All her life, everything she's known is pretend. The rich have a vast tapestry of lies they must maintain, appearances that must be kept. Sometimes, money isn't as important as the lies you speak. If you can weave the greatest, you end up at the top.

Her trust has been misplaced, though. She thought Timmy liked only her, but it's clear by now he doesn't. Why else would he kiss her back, unless…

Here she returns to her previous idea, that Tootie forced him into kissing her back. Knowing Tootie, it might very well be the case, so she couldn't begrudge Timmy for silencing her. Anything to get that little brat off her lips, if that were her.

"I _still _like you, that isn't the problem now."

_Oh, dear Lord…he _does _like Tootie too. What does that girl have? What panache that draws him to her like a moth to the fire? I'm pretty, I'm popular, I'm everything she's not…so why does he like her? _

_Could it be that I'm…jealous? Surely, with all the horror stories I've heard about Vicky, she must be suffering too, but I never really saw it that way before. I only saw her as competition, that's why I treated her so badly when we were younger. And now that she really is, I can't deal with it. _

_I want her to go away, because I think it'll make everything easier. I'm sure she thinks the same of me, but she probably has more reason to…_

_Oh, God…I think I see things her way now. Quick, Timmy, say something so I can stop feeling so…compassionate. Ugh._

"I feel guilty over Tootie, which makes me wonder if I like her too. By not telling you I wasn't being fair and…"

He's rambling again, but he's confirmed her suspicions as well. Dread settles in her stomach, accompanied with a sense of nausea. The thought of Timmy and Tootie renders her physically ill.

Trixie exhales sharply, the emotional strain oppressing her and growing every second. Repeatedly, she gazes at the clock. Never before has time grown so imperative- is it too late to meet Timmy again? Dare she risk it?

"Trixie?" Timmy calls, aware she hasn't said anything in the past ten minutes. In fact, she can't even hold the phone; her hands are slick with sweat. This world is too much for her right now, she'd love to escape it. No wonder the rich lie so much, it's better than the truth.

Instead of responding, she says nothing at all, merely glances at the lie her father perpetuated as her mother's picture. She has no real past, present, or future. She's adrift, unsure of her footing. And his voice won't stop…

Aware she must say something, Trixie swiftly picks up the phone and in a voice that is not hers, replies, "Timmy…I'll call you back tomorrow, okay? I have some things I have to take care of."

Timmy yammers something, but she fails to hear it. The words will come to her, though, since she has heard and understood it, but her conscious refuses to deal with it. She has too much on her plate.

Shoving the phone aside, casting the sheets away, Trixie rises and walks out of her bedroom. The time, according to all clocks around, is eleven oh five, but she ignores it. In fact, she ignores everyone else moving around her father and strolls up to him.

He gawks at her and folds his arms across his chest. "Trixie, it's an hour past your bedtime and-"

In a no nonsense tone, Trixie replies, "I want to see my mother."


	12. Finding the Right Scapegoat

Author's Note: To anyone who might be concerned, this is**_ not_** the prequel to "Undercurrants". Trixie is completely straight…in this story. ;)

Disclaimer: I don't own FOP. I don't own my own house. In fact, I don't even own the right to go in my house without 'supervision'.

ChapterTwelve Finding the Right Scapegoat

"What?!" Mr. Tang chokes, and it's not just on the fumes from the painting upstairs. Paint fumes carry downstairs and she has a sinking suspicion her father's trying to recreate something crucial to her. So, for the moment, she'll leave the idea of seeing her mother aside and focus on this.

Folding her arms across her chest and trying to show she's the perfect young lady her father's trying to force her to grow up too soon into, Trixie replies coolly, "What are you doing upstairs, _Father_?"

"Retouching," He retorts equally as coolly, but she shoves her way past him. Up, she scrawls the wooden ladder and beholds a plethora of pictures she never knew existed. All of them are of her mother.

Or, rather, she should say they were of her mother. For now, except for one mural, half hidden by a dripping painting, all have been converted to black. Every single one has been erased, essentially, stealing her mother's face from their memories.

Trixie's eyes well up with unshed tears as she approaches the final one. Scowling, a hired painter jumps in front, brandishing his paint brush. With an obscene gesture, he indicates she leave.

But she isn't persistent for nothing. If she didn't hold to her convictions, she'd never have started dating Timmy (despite the heartbreak he'd causes her…she wondered if it's she he wants). So what if her outfit ends up being ruined? For once, she has other things on her mind.

"You're not supposed to be up here, young lady!" The painter, dressed in all white with white overalls and scraggy brown hair dangling down, admonishes her. He shakes his brush at her and splatters of paint land on her hair and outfit. So, her prediction was right. Well, so what? It's her mother's portrait she's concerned about, nothing else.

"Leave my mother's pictures alone!" Trixie snaps, grabbing it off its pedestal and clutching to her chest. Still wet paint from another butchering smatters her shirt, but she doesn't care. Other than the background, it remains untouched and that's how she's going to keep it. Right now, she's ready to risk life and limb for it.

"We have a job, missy, and we're going to do it no matter what _you _think!" Grabbing her by the elbow, he attempts to pry it from her arms. If he holds her any tighter, she's sure he's going to break her elbow.

"Let go of me!" Trixie shrieks, performing a sweeping kick that knocks him off his feet. Then, when he's down, she, after a grand attempt not to fall over herself, kicks him hard in the arm. The sheer shock forces him to release her and she casts him one wretched glance before running off.

Through the halls, past the expensive but ultimately worthless crap, down a long, forbidding corridor…she flees the scene, clutching her prize to her as tightly as humanly possible. In fact, she hasn't even seen her mother's face yet, she's waiting until they're both somewhere safe. She wants to know what she looks like- _before _she hunts her down.

Finally, at the end of a catacomb of winding halls, she finds herself in an ill used, often locked room of the house. Unfortunately, she doesn't have the key…but she knows how to pick locks (just don't tell Tad and Chad that) and she can get in if she needs to, which she does very much. Just a flick of her extremely long nails and she's in!

Gasping for air, thanks to all the dust, she stumbles in and clumsily locks the door behind her. Once her eyes focus, though, it's a completely different story. In fact, now she knows why this room was locked.

"Patricia Elizabeth Montgomery," Trixie reads off a trophy, situated by a bed so layered with dust, it's almost impossible to see the sheets. In fact, everything in that room is so covered; she has to wipe things off to know what they are. Why haven't the maids been in here to clean? Unless…

"Mom…" Trixie breathes, placing the portrait on her bed. _This was my mother's room…no wonder they kept it locked. They probably didn't want me finding it._

Beaming up at her is a picture that, aside from the decidedly non-Asian appearance of her eyes, could be her. Maybe her father's so strict with her because she resembles her mother so closely, they could be sisters. The thought makes her smile and then frown again- her father was to blame for her not having a mother.

If only she could gather everything in here, clutch it in her arms, and return her mother to her. No matter how many things she might have of hers, it won't mean she'll come back. The only way that will happen is if she manages to convince her…

Blowing softly, she uncovers another relic, this time as precious as the portrait. It's a tape recorder, and, when she hits play, it runs her mother's voice. Before she left, or, rather, fled, she recorded this for her. It fills her with a sense of nostalgia and a yearning to know her.

"Trixie, my sweet…" A melodious, pleasant, charming voice chimes, sounding maternal and elegant at the same time. Echoes resound; she clings to them desperately, longing to remember something far too long ago to recall. This is her mother, damn it, if only…

"If you're listening to this, it's probably because you snuck into my room. I sincerely doubt your father would permit you in here, considering how much he hates me…"

Here, the tape broke down, but she recognizes it not as crinkling, but her mother crying. Instantly, her heart goes out to her, forced to live a horrible life because of her father. Every second she hears, her hatred grows exponentially.

"I don't know what to say to you…I wish I could come over there and hold you in my arms and kiss away all your tears, but all I have to offer you is this number…

"I can't tell you if it'll work whenever you find it, however long that will take, but I pray it does…when you're old enough to use the phone, that is.

"I love you, Trixie…" With that, the recorder clicks off, leaving her speechless. Number? There is no number. Wait- why? No…her father got to this too…

There's another click and, startled, Trixie jumps. A broad smile crosses her face- she figured her father might try to go through the tape. That must be it.

"Trixie Elizabeth Tang, if you're listening to this, you're in direct violation of one of my rules and, as of this moment in time, are grounded for a month. You shall have no contact with your mother whatsoever, which was the purpose of removing her phone number, and if you think I'm kidding, you have another thing coming. Leave this room, never enter it again, and forget your mother ever existed, because neither can you interfere with. Are we clear?" From behind her as well as on the tape, the voice echoes.

Stunned, she spins around to find her father glaring at her. Pain crosses his eyes as he glances around, and his fingers clasp onto a garment.

"Now, get out!" Mr. Tang snaps, burying his face in her mother's garments. Trixie, however, doesn't budge an inch. Instead, she merely pretends to leave, but lingers by the door, waiting for his reaction.

"Patricia…I'm so sorry…I love you so much…please don't hate me…my parents forced you away…"

These words send a chill through her heart; even as she turns away, up the stairs, she can't strike it from her mind.

"_My parents forced you away"…then I guess it's time to talk to Mommy and Daddy Tang._

-------

_"C'mon, Trixie, sweetie, grab my finger!" Patricia grins, sweeping her up in her arms and kissing her chubby baby cheeks. In response, she gurgles happily, running baby fingers through her raven tresses. _

_However, all too soon, she grows up and she glances back, only to discover her mother's gone. In her place stand Mr. and Mrs. Tang senior and she glowers at them. They took her away…now they'll pay._

-----

Trixie jerks awake, clutching her blankets to her body. The only thing she sees in the darkness is revenge.


	13. Out of the Horse's Mouth

Author's Note: Happy belated New Year! I hope you guys had a good break (I know I did!)

At any rate, you know the drill. Read and review, please and thank you.

Disclaimer: I don't own FOP, nor do I own anything associated it with it. The character of Patricia Montgomery is mine, however, so please ask before you use it. (Lest I hunt you down, you mangy cur, and get your story removed from ).

Chapter Thirteen: Out of the Horse's Mouth

Trixie tosses and turns in her sleep, full of nightmares and half remembered, vague images. Elusive is her mother's voice, haunting like a forgotten symphony. When she awakes, she's full of discontent. Nothing she chased so ardently remained for her to dissect.

However, instead of opening her eyes, she imagines her mother awaking her gently, shaking her awake while mentioning that Tootie has mysteriously fallen off a nearby cliff and her funeral's tomorrow. Timmy waits by the door, inconsolable by everyone except her. All she need to is get dressed and she'll have everything she's ever wanted.

Like an effervescent dream, it fades into nothingness. Lacking a strong imagination, the warm arms encompassing her vanish and her mother's voice, forcefully portrayed, disappears. No dead Tootie, no present mother, nothing.

And all too soon, reality crashes back down on her. Timmy kissed Tootie (as far as she knows), her mother's gone and only decided to visit Dimmsdale on a business deal, and Veronica, conveniently, has skipped town for the month. The combination is enough to convince her to remain in bed for the entire day…were she that type of person.

However, Trixie Tang refuses to cave into the sheer amount of unpleasantry she has to face. She'll call Veronica first, then, as soon as she got directions to her grandparents' nursing home, she'd badger them into telling her about her mother. And if her father thinks he'll prevent her, he's got another thing coming. She'll put everything, including the dinner, on hold for this.

Throwing aside the sheets, Trixie glowers at the closet, aware that the wrong outfit will gather the wrong impression. If she dresses meekly, her grandparents will think they can walk all over her, but if she dresses in her normal garb, her grandparents will lump her with her mother and tell her nothing. She simply cannot take that risk.

Decisions, decisions. She's absolutely nowhere without her right hand girl, resting comfortably in the Bahamas. Perhaps she'll find a way to cut their resources there, just so she can come home sooner. The old adage- "you never miss something until it's gone" never seems more prevalent.

The phone rings again and she dashes madly for it. Although she's currently in a spat with Timmy, she really won't mind if he calls her. Maybe it's him, telling her he trashed Tootie completely and he's here with a bouquet of roses (they're only sixty bucks!) to ensure her happiness. Oh, and he's seen her mother and she's the only driving him over.

Pressing her hope (and the phone cradle) to her chest, she awaits Timmy's apologies, Tootie's confession that she can never live up to her and she'll stop trying, or Veronica's ramblings about how great the Bahamas are. Whatever it is, she's sure it'll be the usual humdrum phone call. Well, the one in the middle wouldn't be, not by any means, since she'll be so busy degrading Tootie, she won't have time to listen to the voice on the other end.

However, her caller I.D. shows a different story. The number on there is utterly foreign to her, but it's in town, so that lets Veronica out. Even if one of the other two were calling from a payphone, the number prominently displays a hotel. Now, who on earth can get her phone number staying at a hotel? It's an unlisted number!

"Hello?" Trixie murmurs, holding her breath. Close to her hip, her fingers cross and she silently prays for the only other person it could be to reply. Her heart pounds inside her chest and thunders in her ears.

It takes her a few minutes to realize she must act the part of her role, if she's going to keep her status at all. Therefore, she cannot be this shaky little girl, but a strong, confident young lady. So what if she's secretly hoping it's her mother on the line? That doesn't mean she should communicate her unease to anyone who talks to her.

"Trixie Tang speaking. How did you get this number?" Wrinkling her nose, she forces her fingers to straighten and her form to cease shivering. Goosebumps have arisen on her arms and she bids them flee, lest she show outwardly her inward emotions.

"I have connections," A female voice replies briskly, which sounds oddly familiar to her. Where has she heard it before? It's on the tip of her tongue…

Standing at the doorway, her father gazes in at her. A peculiar expression marks his face and she frowns, wondering what interest he has in her conversations. Well, the reason why he's here matters little, only that he leave as soon as humanly possible.

"I don't care what connections you believe you have, but I do not accept phone calls from strangers," Trixie replies briskly, aware her father's noting her every word.

_Go away, I say! Damn you!_

Tersely, as though she too is being observed by a persistent and all too uncomfortable party, the woman replies, "I'm no stranger, Trixie."

Beating wildly in her chest, her heart skips a beat at her name being spoken by this woman. Once again, the idea strikes her there is something oddly familiar about her, if only she could give it a name. And, once again, she wishes her father would find something better to do than eavesdrop.

"You haven't identified yourself," Trixie pointed out, "and I do not waste time on pointless conversations with people who might as well be aficionados or stalkers. I have no idea which category you fall under but-"

"Neither," The woman replies, a hint of a smile in her voice. "I suppose you don't waste time on pointless conversations with your father, either, because he's neither."

"Hang up," Mr. Tang snaps, crossing the room and glaring at the phone number. Apparently, he knows something she doesn't and whatever it is, the fact she's ignorant annoys the heck out of her. What right does he have to parade around her room and tell her what to do? If she weren't on the phone right now, she'd give him a piece of her mind.

"Who are you?" Trixie snaps, waving her father away. He stands, like a hawk, over her shoulder, attempting to overhear the other person.

"Don't you recognize me?" Sighing, she answers her own question. "No, I suppose not. Your father would have done a pretty good job of making sure you thought you were immaculately conceived."

"Mom?" Trixie cries, delight filling her. At this word, her father snatches the phone from her hand.

"I told you never to call this place again. If you take one step near by my daughter, send her an e-mail, an instant message, phone her, or send her a letter ever again, I'll put the restraining order back. You have no parental right to her and therefore, as per the agreement set up by my parents, you will not speak to her. Goodbye!" With that, her father slams the receiver down and deletes the number from the database.

Anger such as she has never known before surges through her and it takes every effort not to scream in his face. Instead, she collects herself, forcibly recalling the phone number so she can call her discretely from her cell phone (she's aware the number will appear on her bill, but, at this point, she's so furious, she doesn't care what happens in the future).

_How **dare **he do this to me! I was this close to having an actual conversation with my mother until he snatched the phone out of my hands, snapped at her, and slammed it back down. _

"I told you, no contact with your mother," Mr. Tang hisses, scrolling through her list of numbers and blocking the hotel (neither a call outward nor inward will come through that number).

Overlooking the obvious that _she _had contacted _her_, Trixie replies coolly, "That's all right, Father. I'm sure you and your parents know what's best for me. After all, they knew what was best for you, when they sent my mother away, right?"

All the color drains from his face. Casting a glance about the room and muttering some nonsense about everything being in order, he, troubled, vacates, slamming the door shut. Hmm, she'd never thought him capable of fleeing from an argument before; she'd best store this for future reference.

Snatching her cell phone (after securely locking the door), she dials the number, which, thanks to her photographic memory (belying the fact that, although she knew Timmy's name before, she'd never wasted enough effort to prove to everyone else she did), she memorized. The phone rings four, five times, and her heart sinks. Perhaps her mother's become disenfranchised thanks to her father.

"Hello?" Another voice answers and she realizes, abruptly, she doesn't know her mother's extension. What good did it do her to memorize the general number if she can't get in touch with her? What if she specified no inward calls?

What does she care, anyway? Ten years has been far too many to be separated and she'll be damned if she lets her father push her around. Hell, if she were in the same situation as her mother had been years ago, she'd really let them have it.

"Yes, I'd like to speak with Patricia Montgomery, please," Trixie replies pristinely, her fingers tapping on her table.

"I'm sorry, but she has specified no business calls-" The voice, a man in his mid-forties she would guess, responds.

"I am _not _business," Trixie snaps. "And I demand to speak with Miss Patricia Montgomery…or else you'll find yourself short changed and looking for work by the end of this phone call."

"Listen, miss," He retorts, "I don't know who you think you are, but I sincerely doubt you have the power to-"

"I am Trixie Elizabeth Tang and if you _don't _put me through right now, I can promise you it's just a short phone call away to unemployment."

Silence reigns and, smirking, Trixie awaits his reply. Surely he's not stupid enough to deny her, considering she seriously contemplates firing him just for the hell of it. No one treats her like that, no one.

"Right…right away, Miss Tang…" He replies, sounding faint of heart. There's a brief pause and then, she can hear the phone ring again.

_Pick up, Mom…please pick up…_

For an eternity, the phone rings and, after about the fourteenth ring, Trixie poises her finger over the 'end' button. This is ludicrous- but wouldn't there be a message preventing this many rings? Why is she letting it dangle for so long?

"I didn't realize you had a cell phone," Patricia remarks dryly and, fumbling a little, Trixie places the phone to her ear.

_Finally. What took you so damn long?_

"I didn't realize my father and his parents intimidated you that much," Trixie shoots back.

"There are things the Tang family has access to…that prevent me from remaining in Dimmsdale for too long…" Her mother replies cryptically.

Fed up with everything, especially withheld information, she snaps, "Like what?"

_Will **someone **clue me in already? I'm ten, not five, thank you very much. And if everyone insists that I'm old enough to wear makeup and behave like a young lady, I'd like to receive the same information one would get. _

"I'm not in the mood to discuss this with you at the moment." She sighs.

"Let's just say these things have the ability to put me six feet under, if they're so inclined."

"Dad's family's trying to kill you?!" Trixie shrieks, disbelief sketched on her face. "Why would they do that?!"

Maybe she's jumping to conclusions, maybe she isn't. There's a distinct possibility her father's family would go any extreme to eliminate her from the family, isn't there? Considering what her father's done so far to prevent her from speaking with her, she doesn't doubt it. Nothing's out of the realm of possibility anymore, if Timmy can kiss Tootie.

"Trixie…" She warns. "My phone line's tapped."

"What? Why?" Pacing the room, she strolls back and forth, past the picture of her and Veronica…and a hidden one of Timmy behind it.

_And how on earth do they tap hotel phone lines?_

"They want me out as soon as possible. The sooner the better. It's too risky for us to talk…"

"Then can I meet you? We can set up a place-"

"Too risky. If you're around a place with the initials IM by the time the sun sets, we can talk then, supposing no one else figures out what that is."

Nodding, she replies, "It's-"

_Good old Il Maestro. It's the meeting place for everything and everyone renowned in Dimmsdale. People have dates to decide their future employment, to do whatever. Anyone who's anyone has been there._

"What part of 'this phone is tapped' don't you understand?" She says, exasperated. "And I've already said too much.

"I have to go…I love you, Trixie."

With that, the ring tone thunders in her ears and she pushes 'end'.


	14. Reinterpretation

Author's Note: I apologize for the delay and I hope you enjoy this chapter. Oh, and read and review!

Disclaimer: Do I look like I own FOP? Get real, folks.

Chapter Fourteen: Reinterpretation

It's the first time she's openly opposing her father and she's fully aware of it. Even more so than Timmy, her father appears to loathe her mother, although his actions towards her, if examined, would certainly baffle anyone. However, Trixie isn't given to extensive psychoanalysis, at least, not that the moment, and she lets the subject drop. Perhaps, at a later date, when her father's under more pressure, she'll bring it up again and see what slips.

Yes, she knows she's a brat, but now she's a brat with a plan. The dinner with Timmy is tonight and she might be putting it in jeopardy, but there are more important things than boyfriends right now, and that's family. The irony strikes her and she smirks, mentally adding that to the list of things to grill her father about later. With every passing second, that list grows.

However, something is rotten in the city of Dimmsdale and, before she meets her mother, she wants to find out what led to her exile in the first place. Sure, she might not have a lot of time, but everyone who's anyone knows better than to screw around with Trixie Tang and expect to survive unharmed. In fact, that reminds her of Tootie, another addend to check on later.

Hmm…but where to start? Well, the obvious place is with her grandparents, and, if she can hack it, her mother's parents as well. She isn't sure they're still in town and, if they are, why would they permit their daughter to leave?

The web grows ever more twisted and she wonders if she'll ever unravel it all. At the center of it are her mother and father, but the amount of information she can receive from either of them is limited, given their circumstances. After all, up until recently, she hasn't heard her mother's voice, much less know why she didn't live with them.

When she was younger, she used to ask her father, as little girls are wont to, where her mother was. Every time she did, her father's expression contorted, becoming extremely taut. Pain etched the lines in his face and her questions, intense to begin with, reached a fever pitch. She wanted to know why her father didn't have a wife and why she didn't have a mother. She wanted to know why he resented her grandparents so much. She wanted to know everything- and didn't she have a right to ask?

But whenever she got to that part, her father would shove her in the direction of the phone, instruct her to call Veronica, and get the heck out of his affairs. She giggled, not knowing what affairs meant but it sounded amusing to her. And, after a while, she'd forget what she'd started…but she'd always start up again.

Now, however, she's old enough to realize what's going on. And she won't be shoved aside and instructed to go off and play. She's too old for this nonsense and they both know it. Only, her father pretends he isn't.

Before she waltzes in, unannounced, at her grandparents' mansion on the outskirts of Dimmsdale, she thinks she'll have another talk with Dear Old Daddy. If he knows what's good for him, he'll tell her what she wants. Unfortunately, with her father, things seldom turn out the way she'd anticipated.

-------

She finds him in his office; his fingers idly typing out something business. Again, the irony strikes that she has utterly no idea what he does for a living, only that his money and his status give her great power. She's never been overly curious, she's glad to say, to find out what exactly he does for a living, nor will she ever be. If he sees fit to tell her, she'll listen (with a half an ear), but otherwise, she could care less.

He looks up when she barges in and his face pales, contorting like it had when she was younger. Surely, by the way his eyes dart around the room, avoiding hers, he can discern the topic of discourse. Cornered, like a mouse, he halts and waits for the inevitable.

Forcing a smile, he speaks through clipped tones. "Do you want some money? Another credit card?"

_Anything simple that you won't have to think about? Bribe your way to my love?_

Slamming her hand down on his mahogany table, she glowers at the ancient typewriter on his desk and directs her speech to it instead of him. If he's not going to look at her, two can play at that game. He's batted her around for long enough, it's time for retribution.

"Trixie, I'm very busy, so would you please state what it is you desire?" He mutters, growing colder innately. She smirks, recognizing this as him delegating her to an unimportant position as usual. However, even if this is her father, she will not permit him to ignore her.

Tempted to uncharacteristically blurt it out, she instead opts for the round about way. That way, if she annoys him enough, he might let something slip. Besides, being straightforward isn't exactly something she does easily. Her way is insidious, like a poison.

Glancing towards the letter, her jaw drops. Before her father rips the page out, his face accrues a hue not previously known to man. If she touched his face, she's sure she'd burn her hand.

It doesn't take much for her to realize what he's writing. But why? If he's stopped all contact, what good would a letter do?

And how can he still feel the same after all those years? How can he even feel that way at all, when he drove her out of his life? What the heck is going on here?

"Trixie Elizabeth Tang, how many times have I told you some things are of a personal nature-" Her father begins, tearing the letter to pieces.

"Like a love letter to my mother?" She counters and he flushes, wringing the bits of paper in his hands. Guilty as charged.

"I have no idea what you're talking about and I'll remind you that you do not have permission to enter my study," He replies coolly, while she can read the lies on his face. In his words, she hears not what he's saying, but what he's implying. He has every idea what she's talking about and he wants her out so he can write in peace.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about and why are you writing to someone you told me I was to have no contact with?" She snaps back, snatching a piece of the letter out of the pile of papers in his trash. Although it's too small to discern the entire sentence, the words "I love you" are on it. Check and mate.

"I believe this is no business of yours and isn't there a sale at Mandy's?" He shoots back, tearing the paper out of her hand and shredding it into pieces before her eyes.

"I already went and if you're writing love letters to her and it shows you still love her, why'd you shove her out of here in the first place?" She hisses, fists balled.

"That, like the letters, is none of your business. Now get out of here before I cut off one of your credit cards," He retorts, getting up from his comfy orange padded chair and moving to shove her out of the door. She, however, remains in place. It'll take more than a strong will to get her to leave.

"Like you cut Mom out of your life?" Trixie counters, for the moment ignoring his threat. Besides, what does it matter? She has six other credit cards.

"I am not discussing this with you," He snaps through gritted teeth. "And if you persist on asking questions, I'll cut off your home phone."

She shrugs, apathetic. She has her cell phone. Does he really think he can threat her into submission?

"What did you do to my mother?" Trixie snaps, sick of toying around. She folds her arms across her non-existent chest and glowers at him.

Under his breath, he grumbles, "You're acting like I murdered her, stuffed her in a body bag, and tossed her into the river."

Trembling in anger, she shoots back, unwittingly, "Did you?"

Damn, now she's done. She'd told herself she wouldn't be forthright and she'd worm the truth out of him, only that's exactly the opposite of what she's just done. Although, truth be told, she doesn't regret it. Any information about her mother is well welcome.

He slumps back into his chair and mouths her mother's name. From the portrait, she can easily envision him seeing her mother through her. Nevertheless, from her standpoint, this she can mold. Reap the benefits of the past.

Softer, as though she's lost all the anger reserved for him, she whispers, "What happened to Patricia?"

Her father knows her as Patricia so that's what she'll call her. In fact, she sincerely doubts anyone has ever referred to her as Trixie's mother, except for those two weeks in which she had everything. How could the only two perfect weeks of her life be her first two? What divine justice was that? What had she done in a past life to merit it?

"You were a bastard…and the fact that the elite Montgomerys had a daughter associating with what they called a, well, you know the derogative term for the Chinese, especially someone like me. Even though we were both rich families, they didn't have to work to become millionaires whereas the Tang family had to strive to first live here, and, after several generations, grow as rich as to live here. They turned their noses down at Patricia's indiscretion and told her unless she aborted the baby, they'd exile her.

"She refused…she said she'd sooner die than let them kill her baby…and they said that could be arranged."

Continuing in a monotone, Mr. Tang gazes not at Trixie but past her, as though seeing into the past. Her grandparents' actions make her shudder, although now she wonders why he placed the blame square on his parents. Unless there's more…

"We agreed she could hide out here and have the baby. We wanted to get married, but her mother, seventeen, could not receive parental permission. Flat out, her parents told me it was either abort the baby, abandon me forever, or get the hell out of Dimmsdale…and never return. The stigma of a seventeen year old girl pregnant would be bad enough for any family, but for one prominent, they couldn't stand it.

"If the baby were aborted, they could cover up its existence, if she never associated with me again. They thought this was puppy love, but she was ready to die for me…and I for her.

"I hid her in this house and, for nine months and two weeks, everything was all right. I smuggled her in and made it look like she'd left the city. We lived together in secrecy but happiness…and, although we were never formerly married, we'd already spiritually married long ago.

"However, like everything good, this came to an end. Two weeks after your birth, her parents discovered her existence and my parents were furious. They too had disapproved of my relationship with her, but for a different reason.

"In their minds, my dating an American woman was a disaster, much less getting her pregnant and living in sin with our child. Some Chinese have the prejudice that interracial couples are heinous and my parents shared this. They'd reacted badly when I'd brought her home and the fact that I'd smuggled her in _their _house drove them mad.

"So they did what they thought best- they teamed up with her parents and forced her into exile. Since Patricia's parents wanted nothing to do with our child, they left her onto me. After the scandal, they vanished from the public eye and it's rumored they're at the resting home."

Taking a deep breath, he gazes again past her and she shudders. So it's not her father's fault…or is it? What's going on?

"My father, always sickly, suffered a heart attack upon realizing the magnitude of what had happened and my mother followed soon after. They left the mansion to me under the stipulation that if I contacted Patricia, I'd lose everything. I was to be happy with what I'd done and that was it…"

Here, he trails off and she senses he's lost in the past, completely mired in it. It doesn't matter much anyway…he's given her enough food for thought for a while.


	15. Decisions, Decisions

Author's Note: I'm quite aware that I switched tenses in the middle and then went right back to present. It just seemed to flow that way, so I'm keeping it. Complain all you want, it's not going to get changed.

Disclaimer: I don't ownit. In fact, you'll be surprised to discover I own precious little.

Chapter Fifteen: Decisions, Decisions

It's the day of the date and she's completely forgotten. With everything that's happened recently, especially the revelations concerning her mother, it's easy to forget about Timmy Turner. After all, as important as he may be to her, he's just a boy. And, in the grand scheme of things, an absent mother and a mystery are on a higher pedestal.

Now that she thinks about it, didn't she make a dinner date with her mother? Oh, no, but she has a date with Timmy tonight for dinner! How on earth is she supposed to make both dates?

Unless…

Glancing at the scribbled note to herself regarding her mother's meeting, she notes, with relief, that it's later. If she hurries, she can just make both, barely. Besides, if she's late to her date with Timmy, he'll hardly hold it against her. He should know that a girl like her is always fashionably late.

Now, if only she could be cool enough to pull that off. Her heartbeat races at the thought of seeing the woman who bore her and, for so many years, remained an enigma. What could she be like?

Chewing idly on a pencil, she gazes at the planner, but her eyes are dazed and unfocused. Is her mother more like her? Her father? A mixture of the two? Is she fun loving? Does she like to pull pranks? Or is she all business?

Does she have good fashion sense? Or does she look like a total clod? Are her favorite colors the same as Trixie's?

There are so many factors to consider, and that reminds her- she has to dress the part. If she wears the wrong outfit, she could give off the wrong impression and the results could be disastrous. After all, for someone so fashion minded, dressing inappropriately could wreck any chance she had.

This merits a trip downstairs, to her clothing room. (How on earth could one confine clothing to a closet? It's inhumane!) Once within her chambers, surrounded by the comfort articles bring her, she can finally be at peace. (And, naturally, locate the perfect outfit).

Carelessly leaving her planner out, since she believes none, other than the servants who have no use for it, will read, she leaves her room. On her way down the stairs, she notes an interesting piece.

Some time during her talk with her father and returning to her room, her father has placed up a picture of her mother. It's covered in dust and she can barely make out her mother's face, but somehow, she thinks this may be how he'd prefer it. Although he cannot help the fact she knows her mother's voice, she has a feeling he's not through meddling, not by a long shot.

But she'll worry about _that _later. For now, her attire beckons.

-

He'd never spoken so openly about Patricia before and it was unlikely he'd open himself up again. He hadn't realized what he'd said when he'd said it and all the damage it'd done. It brought back memories he wished he didn't have and the all too stinging concept- if she was coming back, it wasn't for him.

Take now, for instance. As much as he hated the fact she'd tried to contact Trixie, he'd felt a pang of jealousy. Couldn't she understand this wasn't his fault? He'd fought his parents and he'd lost. It was either that or live on the streets.

And her parents were no prize themselves, either. It was hard to determine who considered the relationship and its aftermath more heinous- her parents or his. Both had their inbred prejudices, their own concepts of the perfect spouse. In his case, it was a beautiful Oriental girl, of course pure blood.

It drove him mad, all these ideas of purity and whom one could and couldn't marry. Simply put, you couldn't choose who you fell in love with, so why deny what was there? Why did you have to fight against what you knew to be true?

But parents didn't operate that way. They had to dictate who was right for you and who was acceptable. It didn't matter to them if you were in love because if you were in love with the wrong person, then you couldn't be in love.

The same thing, he knew, was said for Patricia's parents as well. They regarded anything other than Caucasian to be inferior, especially the nouvelle riche Chinese. Although they were not raging Klu Klux Klan members, they weren't exactly tolerant, either.

Dating outside one's religion, in their minds, was bad enough, but to date someone like _that_? He wasn't like them, he wasn't perfect. He was flawed and wasn't worthy of their daughter.

He could recall, on more than one occasion, complaining of this to her. (He'd never had the audacity to say that to her parents' faces). When he was on his catbird seat, he'd snap that they'd prefer any Caucasian Protestant, no matter how rude, obnoxious, or cruel he was to her. That they couldn't truly love her if they didn't accept him as her lover.

But even back then, he was all bark and no bite. He lacked the courage to stand up to those who wronged him and could only speak of what he could say to them, not say it to their face. In a way, although he despised it, even if he'd given it all up, he wouldn't have lost Patricia if he'd just told their parents the truth.

Instead, she'd stood alone against them. Even if he'd snuck her into his house, he'd done it behind his parents' backs and when they'd discovered it, he'd remained oddly mute. When they'd asked him about it, words failed him and he merely hung his head.

The day she'd left had burned an imprint into his mind. No words had been exchanged, nor was there a need for them. Each knew where the fault lay and, by now, it was too late to speak it. What good would it have done to bring up the past?

No, the words there had been reserved for one person and one person only, the one who had the least use for them. Patricia, sobbing had pressed Trixie to her breast, whispered she'd be back for her, someday, and told her how much she loved her. If he were capable of any emotions then, if he hadn't gone numb from the guilt, he'd cry with them.

Trixie hadn't stopped crying during the drive home. Nothing he could do would placate her, probably because she missed her mother. Behind those baby eyes, he sensed intelligence lurking, discerning who the bad guy in this situation was. (Unless, of course, it was his conscience acting up and presenting itself within his daughter).

Whatever the case, he'd handed her off to the nanny for a few days while he buried himself in his business. There was nothing as soothing to him as the numbers, completely separate from love and its devices. Among them, he could suffocate himself in the logarithms, the exponential graphs, and the calculations. They would never betray him, never leave him.

After the week was up, he decided to leave Trixie with the nanny. Patricia's absence rendered her looks far too poignant for him to stand- he couldn't be around her. If it were up to him, he'd leave Trixie with the nanny, to raise her forevermore.

Days became weeks that turned into months. By the time Trixie was a year, she'd said her first word: 'charge'. He'd smiled briefly and then returned to work, still reminded of _her_.

The years passed and, through an act of sheer will alone, he forced himself to habitually take an interest in her activities, from time to time. When he'd heard of Timmy Turner, of course, he realized he was bad news. After all, her situation mirrored his too much for him to take. Trixie deserved better than what this Timmy could offer…and he wasn't quite ready for his daughter to grow up enough for a boyfriend.

The dinner was tonight, he remembered that. If only he knew when her date with her mother was…and head her off before it. She didn't need to hear the rest of the story, nor did she have to know what a coward he was.

Glancing in her room, he discovered the open planning book with her mother's hotel, phone number, and time of meeting written neatly down. Excellent, this would work quite nicely.

-

Trixie's darting about like a chicken with its head cut off (and carrying priceless works of art in her hands, shuffling them from place to place). Here, there, everywhere, in her new outfit, she's startling the servants. Her nails are unfiled, her hair isn't done. What's she going to do!

There has to be someone to take her this early in the afternoon, there just has to be. After all, who would dare turn down Trixie Tang? She can even double their pay, just take her!

This is what she's screaming at the phone, despite the fact it simply isn't working. They don't appear to care who she is, just as long as she gets out of their face and leaves them alone. A screeching ten year old (almost eleven) drives them up the wall and they're this close to hanging up on her.

"How _dare _you threaten me, Trixie Elizabeth Tang!" Trixie snaps, jabbing her finger at the phone. If she could breathe fire, the drapery around her would be in some serious trouble. As it is, she _will _maim someone before this day and nightmare is through.

They garble something on the other end, another excuse. How _dare _they run _her _through the ringer! She'll run them through the ringer! No one treats her like this!

"I don't care! Get me an appointment and-" There's a buzzing and she realizes there's a call coming through on the other line. Well, she can just put them on hold, can't she? It'll serve them right for shelving her off.

"Hold."

Pressing a button, she hears the click and answers sweetly, "Trixie Tang speaking. Who's calling?"

_And it better not be a telemarketer. Just because we're rich doesn't mean we want to buy your crappy product._

"It's Timmy."

Breathing a sigh of relief, she releases the Ming vase she'd carted off from the living room and it shatters on the hardwood floor. Oops…but that's what she has servants for, right? Let them clean up her messes.

"What is it?" She answers coolly, sidestepping the porcelain shards. If she weren't on the phone right now, oh, would she scream for Sheila. Where _is _that maid when she needs her?

"Trixie, I did a lot of thinking and I made a decision."

_There are two anomalies in that sentence_, she thinks, amused. _One, I've never known him to spend any length of time **thinking **and two, he's finally made a decision! I bet it's me, I just bet it!_

Or it could be Tootie, come to think of it. But what on earth would he see in her? She's just a little kid…I'm a young adult.

"Yes?" She murmurs, aware their fate dangles on a string. _C'mon, say it already!_

"It was kind of hard to come to, 'cuz I care about both of you, but…" Timmy breathes deeply and she wonders if it's a sigh of relief or despondency. God, if she were prone to them, he'd give her a heart attack. Just get on with it already!

_If I could reach through the phone, I would throttle you. Would you get to the point already!  
_

"I already told her, and she didn't take it the way I expected her to. I mean, I know it's a little unexpected, but she completely freaked out on me…"

_I will too if you don't get to the point!_

She holds her breath and waits for him to drop the second shoe. Around her, servants busily clean up the mess she's made and mutter unkind things about her and her father beneath their breaths. She'll deal with them later.

For her, time stands utterly still. In fact, if she could, she'd hold her heartbeat too. Where's he going with this?

"Trixie, I really like you and-" Timmy starts, but she cuts him off.

"And!" She snaps. "Are you going to get on with it or leave me in suspense!"

"And…I said no to Tootie."

There's utter silence. For a second, she processes this before, jumping up in the air (and startling her servants, who, quite fortunately, have cleared the area), she does something completely and utterly unlady-like. In fact, if her father were to see her, she'd be grounded for certain.

She screams her bloody head off. If she could grab him right now, she'd squeeze him so tightly, he'd pass out. She's floating so high above the ground (not literally, mind you), that she can't even see it. He said no! He said no! He said no to Tootie!

Grinning widely and squealing like a fan girl (or like Tootie), she jumps up and down. Her trained on the scene before her, she fails to se her father sneak out in a business suit, her cell phone and planner in hand.


	16. Two Roads Split in the Woods

Author's Note: No actual Timmy/Trixie in this chapter, sorry. It's actually what happened with Trixie's parents…so, I suppose, although I'll be a little hurt, you can skip this one.

The big date's next chapter.

Disclaimer: For the love of God, I don't own FOP! And, ugh…Harold...

Chapter Sixteen: Two Roads Parted in a Wood

Just seeing her takes his breath away. In the nearly eleven years that have passed, his impression of her was the teenager he'd last seen. Perhaps, in his heart of hearts, he'd wanted to see her as he had then and this could be all over. He could make the right decisions and finally have her.

But time was not as kind to Patricia as he'd have imagined. Wrinkles line her face, as well as bags under her eyes, and, where the makeup does not touch, he sees the weariness from resignation, the pangs of loneliness, and a deep misery. She isn't happy…nor is he. This was not what either wanted, in any way, shape, or form…and perhaps, with her parents deceased and his in a resting home, he can rectify it.

He stares at her through the hotel window. In his right hand, he fiddles with Trixie's cell and searches for one of the last called numbers. Veronica, Veronica, Veronica…that girl needs more friends…

However, as soon as he reaches a promising number, he finds it's blocked. Apparently, this must be it, because every other number, he has no problem accessing. Trixie isn't as clever as she makes herself out to be. (Although it would indeed be sad if his ten year old daughter could outsmart him).

Now, he has to ponder her password. Well…considering that he's fairly certain he knows her inside out, she won't have made it terribly difficult. Hmm…what can it be?

Veronica, Gucci, and Versace, none of these work. Frustrated, he pounds in Timmy's name, only to discover this one does indeed unlock the number. Leave it to her to use a silly boy's name as a password.

Before he can hit send, however, she walks out of the hotel into the balmy May breeze. The wind shifts past her face, whipping her long black hair about. It falls in her face, but she takes no note of this. Her eyes flit across and finally, as she moves closer, they fall upon him.

An expression of astonishment glides across her face as she moves closer, close enough for them to speak without being overheard. Her hand reaches for his but pulls back immediately. Unlike before, she holds herself with an air of restraint.

Her eyes are rooted to him and his to hers. Time has not been kind to her, endowing her with bags under her eyes not even makeup can hide and sorrow marks her face. Clearly, by a glance, he can discern that after them, there was never another. If she found happiness afterwards, it fleeted.

Comparing her to Trixie, he sees nothing of her seventeen year old sense. Indeed, if perusing her face tells him anything at all, it is what she will look like given the same heartrending situation. The way her eyes search his, the pain within, it stings his heart. This is all his this fault; he has ruined her, damned her to this.

He can almost hear her thoughts regarding him. She knows almost as well as he time has ravaged him. For one thing, he's lost his height. (He did, after all, used to be taller).

For another, he's grown stout in his older age. When they were teens, he was leaner, built for the track team, back when he was used to getting exercise. Now, of course, it's a rare formality only permitted when his schedule can fit it.

"Patricia…" He breathes, narrowing the space between them but not touching her. Something about her communicates her distaste. Well, perhaps that's too strong a word, but surely, after all this time; she cannot want him to touch her.

Although she does not smile, the grim line defining her lips becomes softer, less severe. Again, her hand lingers close to his, but, again, she pulls it back. They are no longer seventeen, things have changed too drastically.

In an even tone, communicating no emotion whatsoever, she replies, "Harold."

His name has never sounded so cold as just now. It's almost as though their legacy is false and they are mere acquaintances, meeting on the street. Trixie never happened and she's just visiting Dimmsdale.

"How…how are you?" He's aware of the falsity in his words, how little she wants to hear them. But, surely, she must recognize he has nothing to truly say. All his words died a long time ago. Now he hands out the credit cards and lets Trixie walk all over him. He's given up.

"Fine," She replies through gritted teeth. Her face pulls together, taut. She's not in the mood for small talk- that much is apparent.

Her eyes dart back and forth, as though seeking another. They search frantically, driven by desperation. No…she came all this way and she's being denied her daughter!

Finally, her gaze falls upon his hand and a look of utter contempt crosses her face. Only a ten year old fashion minded child would have such a cell phone and planner…he must have appropriated them from Trixie. Even though she has no children of her own, other than Trixie, they both know the mannerisms and possessions of one.

This, to her, is both the ultimate umbrage and intervention. Not only can she no longer speak with her daughter on the phone or communicate with her by letter, but she cannot meet with her in a private meeting. She has no idea what Trixie even looks like…how _dare _he do this to her!

Trembling in anger, she stubbornly refuses to believe he's come alone and shoves him aside. No…there are no children forthcoming. No one, only the wretched Harold who ruined her life and robbed her.

In a verbal assault, she proceeds to scream her lungs out at him. None of what she says would make a Disney executive particularly happy, nor did it particularly enthuse Harold. Instead, it served only to remind him further of his guilt.

Everything that's happened to her, from living on the streets until she could find a waitressing job to living in a rat infested apartment, she reminds him, this is all his fault. She wouldn't be here if he hadn't lost his backbone. God…he'd never realized how much resentment she must have held towards him.

After all, compared to her living, he's in the lap of luxury. He has everything, servants to clean up after him, money, and her daughter. And he doesn't even appear to notice how lucky he is!

He winces, however, since her words contain no sugar coated lies, only the harsh, cruel truth. Is he truly this horrible? Surely, she might accept some sort of weak apology.

However, before he can open his mouth, she slaps him as hard as she can. She's struck him so hard; he can feel the imprint on his cheek.

Tears shine in her eyes and she snaps, "How could you do this to me!"

It takes him a second to try to place what exactly she's accusing him of. Is it the original situation? No…it has to be the disappointment. She came here to see Trixie…and she never will.

However, before he can focus on this, his mind reverts back to that day and what he'd wanted to say to her.

"I didn't mean to! I'm a coward, I'm a fool! I was afraid! Why can't you see that?"

_Why can't you see the frightened little child I was? My parents ruled over me with an iron fist…and they were so commanding…_

Startled, since she meant as he'd originally thought that this was about Trixie, she retorts, "Why couldn't you tell them what you really thought? Why did you only tell me? Why are you such a goddamned coward?"

The words bursting out of him like a precariously situated dam, barely maintained, he snaps, "I did it because I thought it'd be easier!"

For whom remained to be determined. If he shunted her away, he wouldn't have to deal with his authoritarian parents or the pressures of having a child at his age. Indeed…in retrospect, he'd been horribly, terribly selfish.

"You thought it'd be easier to chuck me out of your life and take my daughter!" She replies, a tear sliding down her cheek. He reaches to thumb it away but she slaps his arm away.

"Goddamn it, Pat, I made a mistake! Can't you tell I'm paying for it?" His eyes plead with her, silently begging her to see the truth…but she's the wronged one, not he. How can he make her see his side when he knows there's no sense in it?

Doesn't she know how much it pained him to choose his parents over her? How he rues his decision, how he wishes he had the courage to overthrow them. But, no, he had to grow up a spoiled, subservient little brat. Damn him.

"All I can tell is that you're cutting me and Trixie off from each other and you're teaching her she was obviously born from immaculate conception! Damn you…why can't you see she needs me!"

She places her hands on her hips and frantically blinks her eyes. No way will she permit herself to cry in front on this peon. She's wasted enough tears over him.

"I didn't want her to be hurt!" He retorts, aware of the feebleness of his defense.

"So this is the way? Keep her sheltered until someone else comes along and Daddy dearest isn't around to protect her? That way, when she finds something Daddy can't defend her from, she completely panics?"

Narrowing her eyes, she scrutinizes him. God, she'd thought him better than this. Then again, not hearing her daughter's voice again until this afternoon and never receiving a response should have told her otherwise…

"She's only ten!" He partially whines. It seems everything he does only serves to make him weaker in her eyes.

"But soon she'll be eleven and then she'll be twelve, then a teenager. You know as well as I that when she becomes a teen, she'll rebel big time. How are you going to deal with that when you can barely deal with the fact that when _you _were a teenager, you couldn't control yourself either?" She counters. She's not backing down…no way in hell.

"The situations are completely different!" _No…they're exactly the same…_

"Are they? They seem to me as though they're the same. Both cases, overprotective parents try to shield their kids against the elements and the children fall prey to them anyway. When are you going to learn, you can't treat her like this!"

_And when are you going to let me see her_, Patricia thinks, anger surging. _This is my last day here._

"If I didn't protect her, then she'd now the truth. And if she doesn't already hate me, she'd start then. She'd be your splitting image, complete with your hatred."

"I don't hate you…" She turns away from him and her shoulders shake, but it's indiscernible as to whether it is with sobs or anger.

"But it's too late for us, isn't it?" He approaches her, placing a hand on her shoulder. She sighs, shutting her eyes. In her mind, she relives the past, what once was…and what can never be again.

"Yes, yes, it is." As softly as she can, she kisses him on the mouth before shoving him away and walking towards her car.

She turns it on and, after attending to the last bit of business, leaves her birthplace, this time for the last time.


	17. What Dreams Are Made Of

Author's Note: The last chapter...

Disclaimer: For the last time, I don't own it.

Chapter Seventeen: What Dreams Are Made Of

She can't find her planner! Where did she put it? She could have sworn she left it on her bed, but when she looks, it isn't there.

And that isn't all. There's no cell phone on her bed either. Both items are mysteriously missing, causing her to wonder who took them.

It could be the servants; she knew she never trusted them. They want to ruin her life, since she ruined theirs. That must be it.

She was supposed to meet her mother a half hour ago, but now she's completely unaware of the place and she can't call her to correct it. Where could it be! How on earth could she mislay something so crucial?

This is her only chance to see her mother and she's blown it! Tears spring to her eyes and she hurriedly blots them, trying her best not to ruin her makeup. How could she have lost it? How?

Darting down the stairs, she rushes to check the foyer and the living room when she bumps into her father, just coming in. He has an odd expression on his face, as though he's in a daze. He appears to be lost in a reverie and she, startled out of her search, stares at him.

"Father?" She inquires, biting her lip and frowning. Now is the time to ask. After all, she needs him to be in a good state before the dinner.

"Have you seen my cell phone and planner?"

There's no answer. Instead, he gazes past her, causing her to shudder. God, he's acting so creepy right now. It's almost like he sees her as a ghost or something.

"Father, what's wrong?" She bites her lip, not truly caring as long as he'll give his approval at dinner. That and as long as she can find the culprit who took her stuff. If she rushes, maybe she can postpone the dinner and see her mother. And maybe, just maybe, she can convince her to stay in Dimmsdale…stay with her.

"Dad!" She cries sharply, when he stares blankly at her. The emptiness in his eyes causes her to back up a few paces, frightened.

Then, silently, he hands her back her cell phone and planner. She blinks in confusion, wondering how on earth he could have her stuff. And, the second question- what interest would he have in her possessions, anyway?

"She's gone," He replies cryptically, frowning. However, the sorrow expresses itself more in his eyes than in his expression, eyes shimmering.

Then it strikes her- he's done the final intervention. He's stolen her cell phone and planner in the hopes of preventing her from meeting her mother. This was the last and only opportunity she had to meet her mother…and he obliterated it.

Anger surges through her frame and, for the first time in her life, she thinks of striking him. How _dare _he do this to her! What right has he?

However, the anger fuses with deep sorrow. Because of him, she'll never have another chance to speak with her mother. She'll never know a mother's embrace…

Through gritted teeth, barely suppressing her rage, she snaps, "How the hell did this happen?"

_And don't give me some lame excuse, either, because I don't want to hear it. How could you let my only chance just slip away like that? What on earth did you say to her to make her turn tail and run? _

His lips purse and it's on the tip of his tongue to retort that she ought to watch her mouth, but he refrains from doing so. Instead, he pivots on his heel, turns his back to her, and walks up the midnight blue carpeted steps to her mother's room. The time for talking has passed.

So whatever he did, he doesn't want to talk about it. But what's she supposed to do? She has to find out what he said, she just has to. She cannot rest until she discovers the reason for her father's treachery.

And if that means tearing him from his precious work, she'll do it. She doesn't care what it takes; she hasn't gone this far to be halted. Maybe she'll come back...maybe what he's done can be undone.

Desperately, she dials the phone number of the hotel and asks for her mother. She'll be there, she'll prove him wrong. He'll see, her chance isn't gone.

The phone rings once, twice, three times and her patience, already dissipating, completely vanishes. Where the hell is good help when you need it? If it were up to her, all the crummy bastards who inhabited the poor jobs and did them just as badly as they were paid would be fired. Leave work to those who will actually do a good job.

And, like her father, it's on the tip of her tongue to say something nasty to the person sitting behind the counter, but, after a long delay, he finally answers. She holds her breath, ready to cry out in triumph. She knew better than her father, she always knows better than him. Of course she's right, she's always right. Her mother will be there and she'll say she didn't meet her father and everything will be fine, just fine.

"We're sorry, but a woman named Patricia Montgomery checked out not a few minutes ago," He replies and her panic reaches a fever pitch. Checked out? That's not possible! She's there, damn it, and he's just lying to her.

And she'll get him, she always does. She always gets her way, that's why she's Trixie Tang. She's damn near royalty and nothing, nothing, ever defies her.

"That's impossible," Trixie replies icily, ready to bite his head off.

"I'm afraid it's quite possible. She checked out at exactly four fifty p.m., with all her bags, and it did not seem as though she'd return. I'm sorry, Miss Tang."

"No! You're lying to me!" Trixie snaps, on the verge of either a tantrum or a fit.

Apparently, tired of her attitude, instead of replying, he merely hangs up on her. The dial tone permeates the speaker and her agitation grows. How dare _he _hang on her! No one hung up on her!

_There's got to be another way to contact her. There's no way she just up and left Dimmsdale without seeing me. I refuse to believe that my horrible father would just convince her that her own child is unimportant._

_Damn it, there has to be a way! I couldn't have lost her, it just isn't possible!_

Meanwhile, on the clock next to her, the time indicates four fifty three. Seven minutes until showdown…

The truth hits her and it hits her hard. As she'd thought before, but hadn't wanted to accept, her mother was never returning to Dimmsdale. Never…

"Damn you!" Trixie screeches, causing several servants to retreat, frightened. They sense a tantrum coming on and they want no part of it. In fact, for the time being, they think it may be safer to just remain in the shadows.

Her body trembles in rage and, desperately, she bangs her fist on the side of the stairway. Violence won't bring her mother back, but it sure as hell will make her feel better. If only she could harm the person who did this to her…

Almost in time with her pounding, the clock strikes four fifty five. Two minutes have passed- but what does it matter? She's already too late for the only event in her life that mattered, seeing her mother.

When he least suspects it, she'll get him. Oh, yes, he'll pay for this. She doesn't know how quite yet, but when she figures it out, he'll be in for a rude awakening.

After all, he's never fought her before, so why start now? What makes this day different from all others? Is it "be nasty to Trixie" day or something? Or how about "we'll never let Trixie see her mother" day?

God, just thinking about it renders her sick. She's in no mood to eat dinner tonight, perhaps she'll eat later, in her room, when her appetite returns. (_If_ it returns).

"If anyone wants me, I'll be in my room," She snaps, aware that the clock beside her has chimed five o'clock evenly. Distantly, something registers about that time, but she cannot place her finger on just what.

Ah, well, whatever. She's sure it'll wait. It has to wait, because she says so. And, other than what just happened, what she says goes.

The doorbell rings, but she ignores it. Let the servants answer, it's their job. Honestly, what did they think they were paid to do, sit around? That's the job of the wealthy, not the working class.

She's not answering a thing. As she stated, she'll be in her room and if this person really wants to see her, they can come up there, if she permits them. If not, well, they're out of luck.

What does she care? Nothing. Let the bell ring.

-

Meanwhile, outside, Timmy hangs his head despondently. He can't imagine why she's not answering her doorbell. Maybe she's forgotten he's coming…she _is _terribly busy.

But he thought he was something special to her. Wouldn't she answer the door if he was? Or at least acknowledge his presence?

Maybe she doesn't like him as much as he thinks she does. In that case, maybe he was too hasty with a certain wish he made, but it's too late to fix that. He already amended the present and future. Nothing bad could come of it, surely.

Cosmo and Wanda, disguised as a green tulip and a pink rose respectively, whisper to each other. They, of course, know what wish Timmy is thinking of; however, unlike he, they aren't so cocky. There is something inherently against Da Rules about changing the future (which, in this case, had a great many lines leading towards it and he corrupted every single timeline). If Jorgen finds out, it will be the last wish they ever grant. It has the propensity to ruin everything…

They fret, speaking none of this to Timmy. Even if they aren't removed as his godparents, they'll be placed on probation. That means no wish granting, which means no helping Timmy out with Trixie's father.

He's been on pins and needles all day, longing to wish but holding back. Apparently, his guilty conscience prevented him from making a wish, his mind stuck on what possible damage he might have done to Tootie in his rogue and callous rejection. They watched over him warily, until the time when his parents drove him here. Both of them have an ominous feeling, about the dinner and the wish they granted.

"When I get in, I'll just wish that Mr. Tang likes me. I can do that, right?" Timmy squeaks, bouncing up and down on his heels and ringing the doorbell again. He's so nervous, he's like a ball of energy and if she turns her head, she can see him jumping around again. To anyone, especially her, it's so painfully obvious he has ADD.

"Well…" Wanda begins, on the verge of another lecture. She really did give to him before, when he made the first wish, but now, she wonders what good another will do. He's head over heels for Trixie and it's clear he's not thinking with his head.

"Sure you can!" Cosmo pipes up, ignoring his wife. "Just say 'I wish'-"

"There will be no wishing!" Jorgen thunders, his fist appearing out of thin air and squeezing the two fairies tightly. Although his voice resounds, the rest of his body does not appear. A neat little trick.

"What? But I need them-" Timmy whines, but he's cut off as Cosmo and Wanda vanish back to Fairy World. So now he's alone…completely magicless and left to his own devices. Didn't anyone know his own devices were miserable?

After all, he can't even get Trixie to answer the doorbell. He's rung it three times and still nothing! Can't Fairy World tell he's utterly useless without magic?

Unless she's waiting because she wants to be fashionably late. Please let it be that, not that she's standing him up. He couldn't take it if she decided this was all just a cruel hoax.

And if it is, her father figures in perfectly…darn…what on earth is he going to do without Cosmo and Wanda? How will he keep himself from acting stupid?

As Timmy Turner ponders this, Trixie finally jerks out of her own pensive mood and realizes the doorbell rings. She jumps at the door and opens it, quickly ushering him in. Other than a few splotches in her mascara, she appears perfectly fine, in fact, better than normal.

"I have to fetch my father," She says, spitting out 'father' as though it poisons her to speak it. He gazes at her quizzically and simply shrugs his shoulders. So, he's left again to his own devices…he just hope he doesn't break a Ming vase or something.

-

She finds him in her mother's room; his fingers caress old letters, faded and yellowed by time. He appears to be deep in thought for when she flings open the door, he does not glance up. Well…he won't be thinking for long.

"Timmy's here," She snaps, abandoning all niceties. They both know how angry she is, what's the use of beating around the bush? Besides, does her father deserve kindness? No.

His right hand strays to his lips, as though recalling a kiss. Whatever it is, it's in the past, as are the letters. _She's_ in the present and she won't stand for this.

With a perfunctory wave of his hand, he dismisses her as though she were a servant. His eyes are clouded over, so he probably doesn't realize what he's doing. Well, it's up to her to let him know just what he thinks he's doing.

"It's the big dinner _you _insisted on with the guy that _you _insisted isn't good enough for me! You're coming down and you're coming down now. I don't care what you think and I don't care if you forgot! This is happening because of _you_-" Trixie screeches, snatching the letters out of his hand and scowling. She's sorely tempted to burn them.

"_This is happening because of you! You and your cowardice! You…how could you throw me out like this!" Those were the last few words that she said to me before she left Dimmsdale last time…with me holding Trixie. She never stopped crying in my arms, _Harold thinks absently.

Continuing, not aware her father's mind strays, she snaps, "Don't ignore me! I'm the single most important thing in your life!"

"If I come down, will you leave me alone?" He finally retorts, nerves already dangerously frayed. She's such a brat, her daughter, and he bets he knows why.

Smirking, she replies, "Sure, _Father_."

-

Timmy fumbles over the rose vase on the table and immediately spills it. It isn't his fault he turned his head! One of these days, his awkwardness is going to be a big problem.

Trixie winces, waiting for her father to explode over entrees. However, he does nothing of the sort. In fact, he barely notices the water soaking his napkin.

On the way to fixing it, he bangs his head on the table and loses his hat. Wonderful…he's certainly making an impression…but it's not the one he wants!

After fetching his hat, Harold subjects Timmy to a series of questions, yet seems oddly disinterested in the answers. He answers them to the best of his ability, which, for him, means accidentally saying things he doesn't intend. Fortunately, only he and Trixie notice this.

He may look at Trixie, but all he sees is Patricia. The way she holds herself is eerily similar, although, she has to admit Trixie is far more spoiled. Despite her wealth, Patricia never acted like she was rich. She was always down to earth…

Where did he go wrong with Trixie? What monster had he created? Now he's subject to her whims and fancies…and she's so different from her mother. Only in the way they chew him out and their appearances are the same.

What he wouldn't give to have her seated back here with him right now…Forget Trixie and the past, pretend it never happened. Pretend he had stood up to his parents and he was married to perfection…

While Harold ruminates, dessert arrives and Timmy tries one last ditch effort to convince Mr. Tang of his affections. After all, after this, if he still isn't in his good graces, what chance does he have? It's now or never.

"I…I'd like to propose a toast," Timmy begins and Trixie jerks her head at him. What is he doing? You don't toast after a meal!

Her father blearily raises his head and barely acknowledges him. Taking this as a sign, he continues.

"To Trixie Tang, the love of my life. I did everything I could to get her to like me and now she does…

"I even threw away somebody who _did _like me (even though I still think she's creepy) for her. Mr. Tang, I know you don't like me, but I promise I'll never do anything dishonest or anything or hurt your daughter.

"_Please_ hear me out," Timmy finishes, pleading. Trixie beams at him and, reaching across the table, grabs his hand and squeezes it.

Both turn to glance at her father, who has heard naught a word. He sits there, perfectly still, his mind on other things. Apparently, Timmy's last resort didn't work.

Trixie, frustrated, starts in on him. Everything she thought before she's saying and now, she's really letting him have it. She thinks he's a cold hearted bastard and she doesn't care who, including Timmy, knows.

"Maybe," Mr. Tang snaps, broken rudely out of his reverie, "if I'm such a cold hearted bastard, maybe I shouldn't grant my approval. After all, for a girl who has it all, maybe she doesn't _need_ a boyfriend."

"Of course I need a boyfriend! How dare you-" Trixie starts, but he cuts in, holding up his hand and talking over her.

"How dare _I_? I'm sick of you walking all over me! Why don't you try being a normal girl for once, find out what it's like when Daddy doesn't give you everything you want under the sun. That means no credit cards, no private phone line, no cell phone, no servants, no 'mall browsing', and no chauffeurs. Maybe then you'll appreciate when you have!" He snaps, livid. After everything that's happened today, he's been brought to a boiling point. No more mister nice Tang.

Trixie, awed, stares at him. She collapses into her seat and looks as though someone's told her she's going to die in two hours. Pallor afflicts her and she becomes as white as a sheet.

Timmy, who frankly has nothing to do with this and is completely at a loss, sinks back into his seat as well. He eyes Mr. Tang, wondering just why now, of all times, he chose to blow up. This can't be good.

_I finally let her have it…_Harold thinks. _I'll show her to take advantage of me and my money…_

_But is it right? Am I really angry with her or her mother? Sure, they look alike, but they're vastly different. And, in different ways, I let them both down._

_I may dislike how Trixie treats me, but that was my own doing. I don't hate her, nor could I ever…the person I really despise is myself._

_I have no right to deny her happiness because of my problems. That simply shows I haven't learned a thing…and I cannot amend the past. I have to live with what I've done._

Sighing, he clears his throat and says simply, "You may date my daughter."

With that, he shoves his chair back, rises from the table, and climbs the stairs to finally let go.

"You did it!" Trixie squeals after a few minutes silence and hugs him tightly. Timmy's eyes, however, are on her father.

They won…at the cost of other people's happiness and well being. Was it really a win at all?

-

Trixie and Timmy sit on the floor of his treehouse and look out on his block. Although it isn't the spectacular view she's used to, she can endure it for him. After all, he was gracious enough to let her into this dump he calls a treehouse.

The breeze kicks up his hat and, with a smile, she seizes it from nature's grasp and hands it to him. He smiles, lost in her eyes.

They share a kiss, unaware happiness only exists in fairy tales…and what goes up must come down.

-

Continued in Shrouded Silhouettes, chapter four…


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